Heartsick (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

My brain had been itching before. A truth was trying to get out. It’s out now.

In the background on the newscast, Zachary was explaining something to Rashid.

Danny said his TA, who I now know was Rashid, was talking with another scientist about how viruses are spread. Danny said he knew who we should talk to about viruses. He said the expert might even be involved in similar research...

Another memory gurgles to the surface: Rashid at Sally’s, that night a couple weeks ago. The night before Mandy’s eyes bloomed lavender and everything changed. Rashid was describing his project. I asked if the disease was like the common cold.

“No,” he had said. “The cold is a virus. That’s Zachary’s line of work.”

Danny overheard his TA talking to someone about viruses.

When Danny was talking about the virus expert, he wasn’t talking about Rashid, his TA. He was talking about who he overheard his TA talking to.

He was talking about Zachary. Zachary is the one Danny was talking about, the one who spoke on a panel, the one who the
Journal of Virus Research
just accepted, the one whose prior research was so similar to this strange disease that he might be helpful. So similar that it’s amazing he hadn’t seen the connections yet.

Or maybe he has. Maybe he’s not a bystander, but a creator. A fearful creator who tried to distract others, even his girlfriend, with a mystery drug. Why yes, Zachary, the mystery party drug must be the cause of all this.

I realize that my grand revelation, as strongly as I feel in my squirmy insides, is a little soft. So, Zachary studies viruses and is friends with Rashid so he might have told something to Rashid and Danny overheard. Danny talked to him on the phone. They were going to meet up to talk more, but Danny never got the chance.

I clutch the grass at the foot of the shrine and shut my eyes to the world. I force myself up. I force myself to walk.

Like bits of dust settling into cracks, the truth seems to form. He created this, and instead of clarifying things, instead of helping people, he’s hiding in the shadows. The thought feels ashy in my skull.

But how can I be sure?

I need to know more. How can I tell Mandy that her boyfriend is behind this disease?

What if I’m wrong?

I clutch my fists and realize I’ve been walking toward Luke’s house. I squish my eyes and shake my head. No.

He could help me on this. Maybe.

But no. We’re done. I hug myself as I shuffle along.

Maybe Rashid can help me.

Allan is continuing to morph under the weight of the invisible walls of the quarantine. I’ve seen it covered in snow with Christmas lights blinking out of bushes as people window shop along the cute stores on Main Street. I’ve seen it in the spring, when pollen coats the brick walkways and the grass is so lush it’s hard not to stop every few feet and take a good roll in it. And I’ve seen it in the fall, like it is now, with the occasional tourist snapping pictures of flourishing orange leaves. I’ve seen the students looking idyllic in their new sweaters with books snug against their chests as they walk to class. Perfect snapshots for the college website.

But I’ve never seen it like this. Closed shops and sparse streets. There aren’t any students with pumpkin tea outside of The Old Town Café or friends eating frozen yogurt mixed with Oreo bits and jimmies inside The Freezer. All classes have been moved online until further notice. I try not to get too sad about how trapping people in Allan has made them all disappear. But if you don’t have purple eyes already, you don’t want to get them.

The people who are out now, after the initial hours of panic and after obligations like Danny’s vigil, can be separated into two different groups. Those who walk slowly, eyes to the ground, skittish. And those who walk in huge packs, Jared’s followers. They roam the streets looking for purps. They must rid the world of people like me.

They cross an intersection one block away. I scoot behind a tree, but one of them still sees me. “Over there!” he shouts.

I run down the block, turning left, until I’m in a closed alley. Shit. The rants are growing stronger. There’s an old fridge next to a dumpster, but I saw that very special
Punky Brewster
episode advising against hiding in fridges. I can only imagine hiding in dumpsters is also not a stellar idea. But what if it were a matter of life and death? Dumpster or death at the hands of religious fanatics? What will they do if they find me? What are they capable of?

I curl my fingers around the sticky, gooey edge of the dumpster to jump up and see what’s in it. Maybe there’s some sort of protective gear. But as I debate the merits of a pizza box as a shield, the rants grow louder, from far away to present and crystal clear. When I drop down and spin around, Jared, flanked by four of his followers as though he’s the lead Power Ranger, is before me.

“Quinn, it’s not too late for you. Hear God’s words and He shall save you,” Jared says.

They approach me, eyes so focused, mouths full of eerie hymns. Jared puts his wet hand on my forehead and holds it, hard. Like he’s squishing my skull. I pivot but a follower catches me. He holds my arms behind my back. Jared grabs for my head again, but this time I kick. Even though my kick is more dancerly than aggressive, it’s strong and it connects with his crotch. Jared bursts into a yelp and he sprawls on the ground. With the Power Rangers distracted, I make my escape. I sprint all the way to Rashid’s.

* * *

Confident no one followed me, I allow myself to catch my breath before knocking. When Rashid opens the door, he’s happy to see me, as always. He takes my jacket and rubs my shoulders, which are damp from the light sprinkles.

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry. I won’t stay long...” I say, gesturing to the laptops and splays of books zigzagging across the dining room table.

He steps toward the table, shuts his laptop and closes three massive textbooks.
Thump
.
Thump
.
Thump
. “Stay as long as you like.”

“Is Zachary around?” I ask.

He cocks his head. “He won’t be back for hours.”

Good.

Rashid leans his forehead toward mine and I very ungracefully twirl out of his reach. His lips press together.

“Sorry,” I say. “I just...this has been a hard day...”

“I understand.” He tries to approach me again. He smells like cinnamon and this time I accept his hug, warm and comforting. I need it. When his lips touch mine they’re soft and sensual. My lips part. When his fingers glide under the back of my shirt, rubbing my lower spine, it’s as though I’m a machine and he’s found some button that causes me to open up despite myself.

Nothing is simple anymore. Or maybe it’s too simple.

Rashid and Luke are the same. They both want more from me than I want to give. Even now. Even when more important things, like this unknown condition, get in our way.

I gently push Rashid away. “Rashid, I came here to talk, actually.”

“Yeah, I thought you might need to.” He bites his lips and tilts his head.

“No, that’s not it. I mean, I’m upset about Danny, but—”

“It’s not just Danny. I’ve heard of kids with purple eyes being chased. I heard Natalie threw a rock at someone. I think we’re in danger, and not from this so-called disease.”

I rub my thumb along my bottom lip.

“What is it?” Rashid asks.

I’m about to tell him about my run-in with Jared, but decide I need to get to the point. For Danny’s sake, I’ve got to figure out the root of this disease. And hell, maybe Danny was right about Jared and his religious friends. Maybe if we can show them that this disease was concocted by humans in a lab, they will back off.

“Don’t you wonder where this all came from?”

He looks like I just asked him if he wonders what black holes are really about or if neutrinos can move faster than light. “Of course I do.”

“Well, don’t you think, maybe, just maybe, the virus savant in our midst created it?” Rashid’s chin wrinkles, so I have to say it. “Zachary. Could Zachary have made this?”

Rashid’s hand flinches away, as though my skin is suddenly too hot to touch. “Quinn, that’s quite an accusation. I don’t know...”

“Hear me out,” I say. Rashid patiently listens as I ramble on about my conclusions: Danny, the virus expert, the mystery drug, Zachary not going to the hospital. Everything. Rashid’s face doesn’t change, he just crosses his arms, one hand on his mouth as he takes it all in.

I finish. I wait. It’s hard to read his dark purple eyes. Finally, he takes a breath. He walks to the door and opens it. He looks at the ground. “I think you should leave.”

Protests scratch and crawl along my throat but I swallow them down. Rashid was listening. He heard every word. And he still doesn’t believe me. He won’t help me.

I am alone.

My legs wiggle as I walk over the threshold.

The door slams hard behind me.

Chapter Thirty-Five

When I get home, I watch a video that the college sent to the student body. What we really need amidst this turmoil is to see our president sitting in an armchair with a warm, comforting fire in the background. And, of course, a green leather-bound book on the table in front of him. We are still at an old, prestigious university. That is our purpose even when glitches like quarantines arise.

The president advises hitting the books, and that’s what I do. Sort of.

I look up everything that Zachary has ever published or any research he’s been associated with. The dense results fill in with scary beasts like Lambdapapillomavirus and Togaviridae and Bacillus...Oh my!

I open a few documents. I try to comprehend the abstracts, but I pretty much have to look up every other word. And then I have to take a few minutes really understanding the definition and the context before moving on.

I start running down the list of the seventy or so titles. Reports, texts, studies. How is any of this going to be useful? How am I supposed to find the germ of information in these that will tell me Zachary had something to do with all this? If I find the germ, what will I do with it?

After skimming the studies for four hours, I understand things more—I comprehend previously unfamiliar words—but I still don’t know what to do.

My head throbs as I read a transcript from a panel Zachary was on two years ago. “One thing to consider is that perhaps we don’t need white blood cells. Perhaps we could create something that is even more powerful than white blood cells.”

The other panelists’ remarks indicate that Zachary’s comments were probably accompanied by a fair amount of guffaws and chuckles, and eventually Zachary conceded it’s a pretty crazy idea.

Was this what Danny found? I lie down. I put my hands on my stomach and stare at the collage on my ceiling. I made it with my uncle. We used bits of magazines to make an image. A man and a girl. The figures both have long, luxurious shadows.

* * *

I wake to Mandy shuffling in the hallway.

She pops her head into my room. “Still sleeping? Are you sick or something?”

“I don’t think we get sick,” I mumble as I sit up and grab my phone. Ten o’clock. On a really good day, I can sleep as late as one, but that requires staying up ’til four or five.

“What’s wrong?” Her hand is still on the doorknob, as if the door is holding her up.

I grasp my phone with both hands and look at the ground. “Oh nothing, just you know, a friend of mine is dead and we’re stuck in a quarantine with some mysterious disease. No biggie.”

Mandy looks to the left and opens her mouth but doesn’t say anything. She nods.

I get up. I’m still in my dress from the vigil, but I don’t feel like showering or changing. I walk past Mandy. “I’m going for a walk.”

I don’t plan to walk to the police station, but that’s where I end up. I tense in front of the gray stone building. The rest of Allan is so quaint. Glorious old brick, actual white picket fences, houses painted dark green, even a log cabin looking cozy year-round on the corner of Dutch and Sixth Street. But the police station looks like its creator was intent on configuring the biggest eyesore in all of Allan.

Gray. Functional. Strong. Suffocating.

Luke is somewhere inside, maybe leaning over evidence, sketching notes while using his sharp eyes to take in every part of every crime-scene photo, every transcript, every scrap of material saved in plastic bags. He takes it in, it becomes his and it never escapes him. My palms sweat at the thought of his eyebrows furrowing and his frown smoldering when he sees me. But if I want to figure out what happened to Danny, I need to talk to Luke. And his car is shining prominently in the parking lot.

I push the glass door open and approach the cop at the front desk.

She gives me a warm, bright smile, like I’m entering Chuck E. Cheese’s. I recognize her from Danny’s crime scene. She has great big brown eyes and a mother hen demeanor.

“What you looking for, honey?” she asks.

I swallow and approach the desk. I grip the edge. “Can I please speak with Lu—Detective Peterson?”

She taps her lips and then my arm. A gleeful twitch emerges around the corners of her eyes. “You’re Luke’s girl, aren’t you?”

I’m not his girl. I don’t belong to him. Hasn’t anyone heard of DTR talks? And, anyway, Luke left me on the sidewalk. We’re done. The relationship is now clearly defined: it’s over.

So I sigh. “No, we went on a few dates, but that’s it.”

“Yeah,” she says. “You’re the art major, aren’t you?” she asks, a glint in her eyes, her lips turned up slightly.

“I’m not sure if I’m
the
art major, but yeah, I’m an art major,” I say, wondering simultaneously why Luke is telling everyone about me and why this cop needs some way to distinguish me from what’s apparently a host of other hypothetical girls.

“No, you would be
the
art major.
The
one.” She smiles and reaches her hand across the desk. “I’m Raven.”

“Quinn,” I say.

“Ah, yes, Quinn.” Her grip is warm and firm and she smiles as though she has met a super important person. But it’s just me. When the momentous handshake is done, Raven picks up the phone and winks. “Roy, is Detective Peterson back there?”

She nods and mmm-hmms, and then hangs up the phone. “Hold on just a second, honey.”

“Of course,” I say. I clutch the desk harder. My knuckles turn white. But my knuckles are getting it easy. It’s my stomach and my heart and my flushed face that have maniacal little cells prancing about at the thought of seeing Luke.

“He’s a really good guy, you know,” Raven says as she leans over the desk. “If I were you, I’d hold on to him and never let go.”

I want to be annoyed by her unsolicited advice, but I’m not. “Yes ma’am.”

She eventually has to get on with, you know, being a cop, and she pats my shoulder and moves back to the paperwork she was clicking away at on the computer.

The door opens. I spin away from the counter and actually slap my palm to my chest. Yeah.

A man comes out, but it isn’t Luke.

It’s Tommy, one of the cops who brought Natalie and me in. He smiles and sticks his thumbs in the loops of his belt. “Luke isn’t here,” he says.

But Luke’s car is outside.

He sends out cops to lie to me. That’s how much he doesn’t want to see me.