The Hercules Project

Chapter 4

Disappointment

I had enough strength fed by sheer stubbornness to wheel myself to the back door of the big SUV where I took advantage of the wide, comfortable seats to stretch out and brood. From the darkness outside, I'd lost the rest of my day and night recovering.

Rather than getting a chance to wallow in my endless cycle of rage and disappointment, the slow, gentle rocking of the truck's great suspension coupled with the deep leather seats lulled me near to sleep again.

My anger gave way to pure weariness when we pulled up in front of my house. I couldn't remember ever feeling so tired. The soldier opened the back door for me and tried to help with my chair, but I pushed him away with as much conviction as I could muster.

One look at the house and I knew Abigail was awake. All of the downstairs lights blazed in the early morning gloom. I heard the front door of the house slam open as I slid into my seat and the slapping of bare feet on pavement while I settled into the familiar contours of my chair, adjusting my legs in place with my aching hands. I didn't need to look up to know Abigail was there. She shoved the soldier aside and took over.

Embarrassment caused my cheeks to flush hot. I mean, I loved Abigail, but at sixteen it was humiliating to have my caretaker running her fingertips over my face a couple of times while she looked deep into my eyes. The soldier watched with a smartass smirk.

"Are you okay?" Abigail's voice reminded me of honey. It had a distinctive richness to it, like she poured words out of her mouth.

"Yeah," I said. "Fine."

She drew a deep breath and nodded once, perfect bow lips pursed. "We'll talk in the house." Abigail spun on the soldier who immediately rid himself of the grin.

"Ma'am," he said. "Dr. Simons asked me to return his son home. Are you Abigail Franks?"

She c****d her head to the side, her heavy red hair swinging over her shoulder as she planted both fists on her thin hips, green eyes flashing fire. I felt sorry for the guy, but then again my ability to commiserate with others was limited by my acute need to see someone connected to this whole fiasco suffer.

In absence of my father, this guy would do.

"And just who are you?" She checked his nametag. "Private Forbes, is it?"

"Lieutenant," he said.

"Not for long if I have anything to say about it." She leaned to one side, peeking in the back seat of the SUV. "Tell me Wyatt was wearing his seat belt, Private."

It was my turn to smirk as the soldier turned red in the face.

"I have to go," he said, retreating around the side of the truck as he spoke. "I'll tell Dr. Simons Wyatt is home safe and sound, Ms. Franks."

She scowled at him as he revved the engine and peeled away. Then, she giggled.

"That was fun," she said.

I grinned at her. "Thanks."

She flashed me a frown, then shrugged. "Where have you been?" She crouched next to me, hugging me close, the butter-soft touch of her cheek brushing over mine. My nose filled with the scent of apples and cinnamon. Abigail always smelled so good.

"Dad took me to the lab," I said. And yawned. "Can we talk inside? I'm beat."

Concern written all over her beautiful face, Abigail knew when to let it go. She wheeled me up to the house and inside, closing the door behind us. To her credit, she kept quiet all the way to my room, although I could tell she was dying to ask questions by the way she watched me with her lower lip between her teeth, twisting her hair over and over while the electric lift hummed its way upstairs.

Abigail helped me out of my sweater and hoisted me under the covers. It never used to bother me she had to put me to bed, but lately I found myself having uncomfortable, hormonal thoughts that often made me blush when she touched me. Not only was Abigail very pretty, I was acutely aware of her gender. But I felt so tired after the "experiment" she could have been a supermodel in a bikini and I wouldn't have noticed a thing.

She tucked me in and smoothed my hair away from my face, the way she always did. I felt her warm lips on my forehead, the softness of her breath over my skin as my eyes drifted closed and for once didn't mind a bit someone had to take care of me.

I heard her leave and wiggled further down in my pillow, assuming sleep wouldn't be long coming, but couldn't have been more wrong. I must have caught enough rest after the experiment and during the drive home. Despite my weariness, my mind had a serious case of the running hamsters.

My memory kept going back to my father's last words. "Take the boy home." Not, "Could you please drive my son Wyatt home and be careful of him, he's all I have left in the world," or "My son needs his rest, he's been through a horrible ordeal, make sure you treat him well." Nope. I was and always had been "the boy" to my father. Worse now I disappointed him in failing the stupid experiment.

I opened my eyes and sighed. My digital clock displayed 6:31 AM. I realized with a start I had school in a couple of hours. How mundane that felt! Which took me right back to the test. It wasn't my fault it didn't work. Uni and the general both said so. It wasn't like I was the only one they tried it on or did something wrong to make it fail. If anyone was the failure it was my father.

When my mind worked everything out, I felt a whole lot better. He could be as judgmental as he wanted, but he was the one who screwed up. I wasn't about to let him take it out on me.

With new understanding in place, I fell asleep.

***

I flew over wisps of soft clouds, wingless yet somehow suspended by my own power, whole body alive with tingling. I always wanted to fly, but despite the want I had never been able to walk, let alone fly.

Now it seemed the most natural thing ever. I soared far up in the sky, looking down over Santa Fe and the broad desert where the edges of mist brushed my face, tickling my eyelashes. My laughter died in the thin atmosphere as it left my lips. I looked down at my hands and wondered why they seemed so different until I understood. They weren't my hands. Mine were thin, the fingers deformed from poor development, skin papery and transparent. These hands were strong, muscular, each digit as straight as an arrow.

Disappointed, I felt like I failed. The moment I processed the truth my power died, the tingle fading as I fell and fell and fell, my screams silent in the cold, thin air above the rapidly approaching ground...

***

I woke with a start and glanced at my clock. 8AM. The remains of fresh tingling faded as my shoulders rolled forward, the need to stretch taking over. It felt great, almost satisfying, like an old, sore muscle finally gave up the knot holding it tight. Even better, I felt fully rested, more awake and aware than I had in a long time. Something about my body seemed different, as well. It wasn't until I moved to slide the covers back I realized what it was. The joint pain, my constant companion, was diminished.

I'd never known a life without pain, and yet there I lay, what was left of my daily agony hardly registering. Teeth clenched, waiting for the worst to come rushing back, I swung my legs over the side of the bed only to have another surprise. Moving was easy. Like I really was stronger.

I sat there for a few minutes, trying to keep my excitement to a minimum. Was Uni right after all? And my father? Did something happen to me, something requiring more time to work itself out? I nabbed the hook by my bed with one hand and dragged my wheelchair over, sliding into the seat before pushing myself to my door and out into the hall to the bathroom.

All without wearing myself out.

Bubbling happiness propelled the brush across my teeth, the comb through my hair. I even smiled at my reflection in the mirror, pushing shaggy blonde hair from my forehead so I could have a good look at myself. Did my cheeks seem fuller? My eyes not quite so sunken? My hands, the same thin, crooked fingers waved back at me as I wiggled them despite my dream memory. But the pain was gone from them as well, so I counted my blessings and went back out into the hall whistling.

Abigail waited for me in my room, just like always. She smiled at me and kissed my forehead when she saw my good humor.

"Well, the rest did you good," she said.

"I guess. Can I wear the new jeans today?"

Abigail frowned at me. "You're going to school?" She bit her lower lip, gaze traveling over me like I was some fine glass sculpture ready to shatter at any second. "Are you sure?"

I wheeled over to the dresser with ease and had no trouble pulling open the drawer, usually a struggle to be accepted and ignored. Denims and a fresh t-shirt in hand, I rolled to her with smile so big my cheeks ached.

"I'm sure," I said.

Abigail smiled back and helped me change.

***