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.