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Number Girl
Part 3
"So you're telling me you
don't know what they did to my Taylor." said Dad.
"Yes," said the doctor. A short, squat man whose name tag identified him as Antonio Vasquez, MD. "I'm afraid we haven't been able to diagnose the cause of her migranes. They do seem out of proportion to the superficial injuries she-"
"
Superficial. Is that what you call it when-"
"Yes. Superficial." said the doctor, seemingly unperturbed. I was impressed that he could face down Dad's simmering anger without a twitch. Then again doctors probably have to deal with angry patients and relatives every day. "The damage was limited to a few bruises, cuts, and scrapes that should heal in a week or so. Our X-rays and MRI came back negative for broken bones, brain damage, or any other injuries. This superficial damage would only produce some degree of pain localized to the scalp, and that would have responded to the painkillers."
Dad folded his arms. "You're
not sending Taylor home like this. She can barely get out of bed-"
I let their words wash over me, paying them only a faint strand of my attention. At any other time I would have been hanging on their words. I would have gone through the doctor's pronouncements with a fine-toothed comb for anything I could do to help my headaches. I would have tried to speak up and calm down Dad's boiling temper. It would be embarrassing if he got into a shouting match and had to be dragged out by security.
But now...I had more important things to deal with. I would let Dad and the doctor deal with the practical matters of my treatment, the medications and doses and discharge paperwork Meanwhile, I would handle the
internal part of my treatment.
I gazed at the vast array of futures in my sight, scattered like an endless sea of shining pearls. The futures had once formed a vast, beautiful mosaic. An enormous mural of stained glass with each colored pane a window into another world, showing people, scenes, universes, all branching and connecting to the universes in other panes. The proof that I had become a parahuman.
In the locker I had been able to
command the panes of stained glass, order them to organize themselves themselves into clusters and weigh their probabilities against each other. That was what had saved me, then. That was how I saw the shining golden futures where Emma was my friend again, and how I saw exactly what I had to do to get there.
I had only gotten a glimpse of those golden futures, but it had been enough to take a big step in the right direction. To speak the magic words that made Emma let me out of the locker, get down on her knees, and say she was sorry. In less than a minute, the chance she would stop the bullying and become my friend again rose from 0.0165479017645719% to 18.623601591333360%. From an impossibility to a fighting chance.
I still didn't know what to make of those magic words. I had plucked them from futures where I went mad in the locker and spouted random lies, threats, and paranoid accusations. But my power had shown me that a few specific accusations would miraculously strike home and pierce Emma's heart. It was crazy, but apparently one of her friends was a
murderer, a criminal with friends in high places, and she and her dad had covered up the crimes.
What the hell, Emma? I knew something must have seriously screwed up her head but I never thought she'd become an accessory to
murder. There were so many questions I itched to use my power to answer. Was her murderous 'friend' someone from outside of school? Or was it one of the popular girls? Fuck, was it one of my other bullies, like Sophia or Madison? Was the golden path I saw a monkey's paw, giving me back Emma as a friend but setting off her crazed murderer friend on a vengeful killing spree? Was it a path to get Emma back as a true friend, or was it merely a path to blackmail her into putting on an act for my benefit?
But I couldn't ask any more questions now. The mosaic in my mind was
shattered.
It
hurt. The worst headache I ever had, growing worse every instant that I paid attention to it. When I first woke up I hadn't been able to think, to move, to do anything but writhe in pain and moan and dry heave in an attempt to vomit out my guts.
After a day of ineffective treatments the doctors had given me heavy-duty painkillers that let me handle it better. The new medications didn't stop the pain but they let me stop worry about it. The feeling was hard to describe. It was as if I could detatch myself from the pain, detatch myself from all the troubles of the world around me and simply let myself drift, comfortably in the embrace of a soft, warm, fluffy cloud of haze. It still hurt like a motherfucker, but I could smile and go through the motions of life if I absolutely had to.
But I knew the medication was only a stopgap, a temporary measure. If I left myself drift away and did nothing more, the pain would come back as strong as ever when I returned to reality. I had to fix the underlying problem. The only way to fix it was to
work. Concentrate on the shattered shards and slowly, painstakingly piece them back together into an orderly mosaic once more.
The work was slow and painful, but somehow relaxing at the same time. Like pulling out splinters. Little stabs of pain each time I moved the shards and they ground against each other, followed by waves of relief when they slotted back into their proper places. Only there were
trillions of shards, even in the smallest clusters.
The only part of my new sight that was working properly was the secondary part. The blurry, smoky window that didn't respond to my will, that was locked in to show me my chances of being attacked, trapped, or victimized in the near future. It only cost me a mild pang of pain to look into the window and it didn't seem to need maintenance like the master mosaic did. I decided to call the blurry window my
threat detector, although maybe
bully detector would be more appropriate. It was currently giving me a clear reading.
99.7% chance of being free from attack in one hour's time.
Reassuring...yet oddly not. There was an 0.3% chance I'd be attacked in the next hour in the hospital?
Me, a random patient in a random room? At that rate the hospital would be suffering one or two random attacks on their patients per day. Very unsafe for a hospital. Unless the possible threat was somehow related to me? Maybe Emma's Dad or her secret murderer friend was coming to hospital and they'd freak out if they saw me. I'd have to watch out for them, maybe use my power to find out who was coming-
The shattered futures responded to my line of thought and made a shaky attempt to sort themselves into clusters, sending a wave of mind-blasting pain through my head. I quickly clamped down on the futures before they could go any further. Lesson learned. Don't use my power until I fixed it up properly. And even once I fixed the mosaic back to its original condition, I knew that each use of my power ripped its fabric in a way that would take thirty minutes to an hour of focused maintenance to repair. That meant that I wouldn't be able to use my power to answer every question. I had to save it for the important ones.
Something jostled my arm. I tore my gaze from the futures and looked up to see my Dad standing in front of me protectively, as if he was defending me from the doctor.
"-expected better than this!" he said, nearly shouting. "Do what's best for Taylor!"
"Mister Hebert, we've done everything for Taylor we can. Headaches sometimes occur in the wake of physical trauma without any clear cause. They may come and go, lasting for days or weeks before disappearing, or in rare cases continuing to become something more chronic. My advice is to keep a careful watch and consult your primary physician if her headaches don't improve in a week or so. Also..."
The doctor cleared his throat. "It may be hard to accept, but it is also possible that the migranes have less to do with her biological condition than her psychological condition. That's outside my area of expertise, but I can refer you to a good-"
Dad's response was immediate, his voice hard. "Think carefully before you complete that thought. Are you saying my daughter is malingering? That she's lying about her symptoms to get out of school?"
"Not at all." returned the doctor cooly. "I'm saying that your daughter's ordeal was more than a simple physical injury, and that she'll be best served by getting professional help for the other aspects as well."
"You're passing the buck. What are we
paying you for if-"
I reached up and tugged at Dad's shirt. "Dad, it's fine. You don't need to make a scene. They did everything they can for me. If they can't help me, they can't help me."
Dad let out a breath. He clasped my hand in his, and I could feel the tension in his body. The fight hadn't gone out of him. But he would give up the argument for my sake.
"Thank you for understanding, Taylor." said the doctor. "I want to assure you that we've done everything we can. I have to prescriptions for you to take home. First, we've given you antibiotics as a precaution against infection. Take the pills two times a day for two weeks. Remember to complete the course of treatment even if you feel perfectly healthy."
I nodded. We learned about antibiotic resistance in school. I didn't want to come down with a superbug because I forgot to finish my meds.
"Second, we've been giving you vicodin for your migranes after they were unresponsive to conventional treatment. Since it's more effective than anything else we've tried, I'm giving you a prescription for a limited supply. Again, remember to follow the instructions. One tablet every four to six hours as needed for pain,
only as needed, and no more than six tablets a day given your body weight. These are heavy-duty painkillers and you want to minimize their use to avoid the side effects."
I nodded again. I didn't know much about pain meds, but I vaguely remembered that vicodin was one of the dangerous ones that came up in newspaper articles about celebrities going into rehab.
"Okay. I got it." I said. I tried to give the doctor a smile, but I felt a pang of pain in my head and my smile came out like a wince. The doctor caught my effort, though, and gave me a thin smile in return.
"Very good, Taylor. If you have any further questions or concerns, please contact us or make an appointment with your primary physician. Best of luck with your recovery." He turned to Dad. "Mister Hebert, you can see the front desk for the paperwork you'll need for your insurance. It's been a pleasure."
The doctor left the room. Dad let out a deep sigh and squeezed my hand. "You sure you're going to be all right, kiddo?"
"Yeah. Give me, um..." I regarded the shattered futures in front of my eyes, judged how long it would take to repair them. "...a week and I'll be good as new."
Dad gave me a smile, but there were lines of worry on his face. "Good to hear. I'm glad you're confident. Don't feel like you have to pretend you're better, okay? Take as much time as you need."
"Don't worry, Dad." I said. "I'll be better in a week. I'm sure of it."
"I hope so." he said. "Here, I brought your clothes. Why don't you get changed out of the hospital gown while I take care of the paperwork?"
Fifteen minutes later we were outside in the daylight. I took my first look at the outside world since I got my power. It was a cloudless day and the sky was a particularly vivid shade of deep blue.
I took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled. A fresh day, a fresh start. I had just taken the first tablet of my medication and my headache was reduced to a dull throb, muted by the comforting, warm glow that suffused the world around me.
It was an absolutely beautiful day. The sky was particularly stunning, seeing it for the first time with my power. The blue sky before my eyes was mirrored, replicated in trillions upon trillions of shards of futures, each one beginning with a panoramic sight of that same beautiful expanse of deep blue.
I felt a sudden urge to go exploring, to take in the whole wide world with my new vision. To go to the beach and spend a day staring at the ocean, watching the waves rolling in across trillions of futures. To go to a baseball game and see trillions of crowds erupt into cheers and applause moments before the ball came into play. To take a trip to the countryside and watch trillions of sunsets color the horizon in shades of orange and red.
"Taylor? Are you okay?" said Dad.
"I'm
great." I breathed.
A flicker of motion in the air above us caught my attention. At first I thought it was a bird or a plane, but as it drew closer I realized it was a superhero.
Glory Girl. One of the junior heroes who went to Arcadia high. She was in the news every other week for beating up gangsters with her family's team, the New Wave.
Glory Girl slowed down as she approached to land on the roof, carrying a white-robed figure in her hands. That would be her sister, the healer Panacea. She must be dropping her off for one of her volunteer shifts at the hospital.
The futures in my mind glittered with glimpses of motion, of human shapes in security guard uniforms and others in white costumes. Oh. Those must be futures where I rushed back into the hospital to introduce myself to the heroes. That's right, I was a parahuman now too. Maybe I could ask them for advice about powers, or to ask if Panacea could cure my headaches. It was probably a good idea to meet them, but-
My head throbbed. Right. I didn't have any proof that I was a parahuman. My mosaic of futures was shattered and it would be a week before I finished putting it back together. At the moment my only super power was having a terrible headache, plus a threat detector that wouldn't give me a reading unless...well, unless they planned to seriously attack me. And I hadn't even told my
Dad my secret yet. How could I handle telling a complete stranger?
I sighed, and told myself my decision about entering the cape scene could wait. I could always talk to the heroes later. I was pretty sure they had a help hotline for new parahumans to give them a call.
Besides...Glory Girl and Panacea were
superheroes. I was at the opposite end of the spectrum, the loser shunned by everyone in my school. I couldn't imagine our meeting going well. An image came to my mind of me running up to them in public and blurting out incoherent nonsense like a dumbstruck fangirl, embarrassing them and making an ass out of myself.
No, I would come prepared. I'd always done better by planning my conversations. My power would let me do it even
better. I would wait until my power recovered. Then I would ask if contacting the heroes was a good idea. I would ask how to make a good impression on them, or at least a not-making-a-fool-of-myself impression. Until then I would use my power to stay safe and keep out of cape business.
99.9+% chance of being free from attack in one hour's time.
Right. Before I came out to Dad, before I thought of becoming a hero...I was going to fix my power, and use it for what it was
meant for.
I was going to go back to school. I was going to stop the bullies. And I was going to show Emma the true meaning of friendship.
