The Hercules Project

Chapter 5

Hercules

At least Abigail waited until I stuffed a second helping of pancakes in my mouth before bringing up my adventure.

"Why did your father take you to the lab?" The shiny spatula hovered over the frying pan, golden batter ready. She slid the hot pancake onto my plate and started slathering it with butter while I tried to come up with a good way to tell her what happened without making Dad look like a psychopathic mad scientist.

I gave up and shrugged.

"He wanted to test his latest experiment on me."

A loud clatter made me jump in my chair. Abigail stared, mouth wide open, the spatula and frying pan scattered on the tile floor. The sun-filled kitchen seemed darker all of a sudden and, despite my anger at my father, I wished I kept my mouth shut, if only for her benefit.

"He... WHAT?" Abigail had the type of voice that carried. Clearly. Especially when she was upset. No honey there, just pure fury.

"It's not so bad. Honest. It was perfectly safe." Of course, I had no idea if that was true or not. But I didn't want Abigail to worry any more than she would anyway.

I had never seen her so angry, the corners of her eyes all scrunched like crumpled paper, lips peeled back from her shining white teeth like she was ready to bite someone. "Really. Perfectly safe. I see. And just what was this experiment supposed to do, Wyatt Emerson Simons?"

I knew what I was about to tell her wouldn't help the situation any, but I didn't have much of a choice. It was impossible to keep anything from Abigail.

"Um... I'm not sure," I said. "Something to do with HP"

"What's HP?"

"I have no idea." I said. "But whatever it was, it didn't work." I remembered something else. "What's Hercules?"

"Who," she said. "He was a Greek hero. Son of Zeus, I think. Strong, made to face a bunch of challenges or something. Don't change the subject."

"I'm not. Someone at the lab said the name Hercules."

"HP," she said. "Hercules something?"

"Project." It made total sense. "Dad called it a project."

"Well, whatever this Hercules Project is," she said, "he had no right dragging his only son into it." Her temper seemed to be retreating, but I knew Abigail better than that. She was just storing it up for later.

Dad was in so much trouble.

I know I looked glum. It's probably it was what saved me from her further wrath. The anger drained out of her as she bent to pick up the fallen pan and utensil. When she rose, I was surprised to see tears standing in her eyes. She turned away from me and when she swung back they were gone so I wasn't even sure I saw them after all.

"I'll have a talk with Edison tonight," she said. I secretly hoped she'd let me watch. "Right now, we'd better hurry or you'll be late for school."

By the time Abigail had my chair loaded into the van and started the engine, I was feeling queasy. I questioned the extra pancakes when the tingling came back. It started in my hands, moving up my arms to my chest and down my legs. When we pulled up to the stop sign at the end of my street, the headache was back.

I heard Abigail chattering away beside me, but was unable to process what she was saying. My head spun as the tingling grew worse. It traveled through my body in waves, pulsing from my middle and out to my extremities. Serious freak out moment imminent, I turned to Abigail to tell her what was going on when the tingling shut off like a faucet.

She glanced at me, head c****d. "What did I say?"

"Nothing," I said. "I... nothing."

"Are you sure you're okay?" She pulled up to the front of my school. I wasn't so sure anymore I could handle a day with my classmates, but I didn't want to worry Abigail.

"Yeah," I said. "I'll see you at three."

I opened my door and waited for her to place my chair into position before hopping myself into it more easily than I even had earlier. Abigail's eyes widened.

"Take it easy, tiger," she said. "Good job, but you don't have to push yourself so hard, okay?"

"I know," I said, as shocked as she was. A couple of girls strolled by, so I latched onto the excuse. "Just don't want them to think I'm, you know. A weakling."

Abigail grinned at me in understanding and smoothed my hair.

"I get it," she said. "Have a good day." She settled my lunch bag into the pocket on the back of my chair and kissed my cheek.

I wheeled away from her with a quick wave, just wanting to get into the school. Because the moment her lips met my face, the tingling returned, worse than ever, and I didn't want her to see the twinge of fear going through me. I suddenly felt like I was crawling out of my skin. My hands twitched beyond my ability to control, my sneakers dancing on the footrests. I could only imagine how I looked, but no one seemed to pay any attention. As usual.

This was bad. Really bad. Maybe I needed to go home after all. But when I glanced over my shoulder to call to her, Abigail was already pulling away. And thanks to the black suited bullies who took me away the day before, I had no way to contact her.

My cell phone was gone.

On my own then, just great. I didn't even have any solid friends at my school. Not that there hadn't been those who tried. I hung out with a small group from time to time, if the urge took me, but I just didn't feel like being social when I couldn't participate in the things other people did. Which meant no one to confide in.

All of a sudden I wished I had.

"Wyatt!" Melody stopped me at the front door. "Are you okay? Who were those men yesterday?"

The choice to talk to her or not wasn't mine to make.

"Got to go," I said. I hated the disappointed look on her face, but figured better to run and apologize later than puke on her sparkly pink pedicure.

I made it to the one disabled stall on the first floor bathroom and locked myself in, struggling for control as I listened to my classmates coming in and out of the bathroom. My head ached so much I knew I was going to be sick and, finally, I was. The stall toilet was a mess of burnt-out cigarette butts and gum wrappers, but at least the last person to use it for its true function flushed. I watched my morning pancakes swirl their way down the drain and wiped my mouth with a bit of toilet paper while the tingling eased, the headache fading fast.

Amazing, really. Despite the rest of the experience, I felt fantastic.

I waited for the bell to ring and the last of the students to leave before emerging from the stall and wheeling my way to the mirror, washing my hands and checking my face, making sure I hadn't missed anything unfortunate when I wiped my lips. I looked down at my hands as I turned off the water and my breath caught.

The fingers were straight. My fingers. More than straight. They were thickened, no longer the emaciated sticks I was used to. They looked like normal hands.

My hands.

Heart rate picking up, I forced myself to breathe. It wasn't possible. And yet, there they were, someone else's hands on my wrists.

I spun myself toward the door and almost fell out of my chair when the force of the push turned me 360. Trying again with more caution still overshot the mark. Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside me as I pushed myself to the door and out into the hall.

I made it to class in record time, avoiding walls and doorways by using the tips of my fingers to move my wheels. I was so worked up as I entered my homeroom, my fingers slipped, my chair hitting the teacher's desk. The jolt sent the heavy wooden fixture for a ride, rocketing my math instructor to her feet with a shriek. I blushed as the whole class laughed, too excited to care all that much.

"Mr. Simons!" Ms. Melson's thin lips pursed, glaring over her wire-rim glasses at me. In her fright, she had shaken loose the tight bun of her silver hair.

"Sorry, Ma'am," I said. "I slipped."

"Indeed." She tapped the cheap wristwatch clinging to her skinny, freckled arm. "You're late. Take your seat."

I glided to my usual corner table as she gestured at Jimmy and Paul. Both grunted as they lifted the table back into place. Jimmy glanced at me with a frown. I'd be getting a visit from him later for making him do manual labor.

I hardly cared. Whatever was happening to me, I moved a table it took two big guys to shift. Focus on the lesson was nearly impossible. My mind raced while Ms. Melson droned away.

I made it all the way to lunch without another incident, retreating to my usual spot to think things over. The tingling hadn't come back, much to my disappointment, since I now equated the sensation with feeling better. It was like the tingling had something to do with the improvements happening to me. Despite the discomfort of puking up my guts, I was willing to embrace that small humiliation if it meant more progress.

I flexed my fingers over and over again, finding it hard to keep a smile off my face. That was a mistake.

"Something funny, Why Gnat?" Jimmy kicked my wheelchair so hard it tipped. I managed to prevent myself from falling over by reaching out to the tree trunk beside me, using it to steady myself.

"Think he's laughing at you, Jimmy," Paul said.

Their bullying was really getting on my nerves. I had more important things to think about.

"Just leave me alone." The wrong thing to say. I knew it the moment the words left my mouth. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Jimmy dove into my space, grinning at me, breath worse than the day before. A vivid whitehead on his furry chin screaming red around the edges stared me in the face.

"You don't tell me what to do," he shook my chair, "ever," he shook it again, the bolts rattling along with my teeth, "got it, gimp boy?"

The crowd was back. And with them, Melody. I didn't care. I couldn't.

I had other things to worry about.

The tingling had returned with a vengeance.

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