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2011
Traffic inched forward over the 35W bridge, an icy rain slowing the already heavy commuter traffic. As he followed the taillights in front of him, Zander hummed along to an old rock song blaring from the radio. He didn’t know the lyrics, but it kept good time with the wipers screeching back and forth. The sweep of rubber made very little headway against a constant build-up of ice, but with the heat cranked up as far as it would go, he had a nice twelve inch or so square of clear window to peer through. The temperature had dipped and was holding somewhere north of zero. He didn’t know how it was possible, but rain was coming down rather than snow. At least his dad had let him drive the SUV to the lab.
He heard a siren in the distance and wondered if he’d ever get off the bridge. If there was an accident up ahead, he could sit here all night. He pressed his lips together and clicked the radio off. The siren was louder and closer than before. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed his suspicions. The approaching ambulance sped nearer, lights flashing.
He tried to pull over but there wasn’t far to go. Other cars moved toward the sides like the body of a snake in slow motion, red taillights marking each one. He remembered the lesson Aunt Marion had taught him as a little boy. God painted all of creation. Even the snakes. He grinned, thinking of smiley faces covering a huge cobra.
His gaze flashed up to the rearview mirror again. The ambulance was bearing down on them. A car still sat in the middle of the lane, the driver apparently not paying attention. The ambulance driver sounded his horn, but the car stayed there, planted like a stone in the path of the rescue vehicle. Zander’s eyes widened when the ambulance hit a patch of ice and careened to the left, then back again. It hit the car with enough force to push it off-center and right into the driver-side door of his truck. His body jerked forward on impact and then back. He felt jarring pain run down his leg as metal screeched inward and glass shattered around him.
He slowly opened his eyes. His head rested on what was left of the door, the force of the airbag holding him inside the open cab. His warm breath was going up in a misty smoke. Was this the end? Would his life fade away like so much hot air, disappearing into oblivion? Or was Aunt Marion, right? There was a creator and a purpose and an eternity after this life. His eyes fluttered closed and his breath came out as a sigh.
*****
“I KNEW THIS WAS A BAD idea,” Lori said for the third time since the rain began to fall.
The roads were slick with ice, traffic had come to a standstill on the 35W bridge and she could clearly see that God’s providence was working in her favor this time. She didn’t want Emma to attend the school in Minneapolis. It was too far from home and she wouldn’t be able to see her except on weekends. Obviously, God agreed.
“We heard you, honey.” Sam kept his eyes on the taillights ahead of them, both hands firmly on the wheel. “But it’s too late to turn back now. We’re stuck on the bridge. And there’s an ambulance coming up behind us.” He eased the car to the side as the emergency vehicle approached, lights flashing, an intermittent horn sounding.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe this weather. It was thirty-five degrees yesterday. Whatever happened to a mild November?”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Kylie said from the back seat. The six-year-old was drawing tic-tac-toe games on the fogged-up window beside her. “Isn’t there even a gas station out here?”
“Not on the bridge, silly.” Emma relaxed back in the seat beside her baby sister and closed her eyes. There was no sense getting impatient. Weather happens. But she felt raw excitement inching its way up her spine. This day had finally come. She’d talked her parents into considering the option of her attending the Minneapolis School for Gifted Musicians. She knew they couldn’t afford the tuition, but she was quite certain there were scholarships out there for people like her. She needed to be around music, and people who understood how she felt about it.
“If we get off the bridge anytime soon, I promise we’ll stop at the next...”
Her father’s words came to an abrupt end. She opened her eyes and saw the sparks of a crash up ahead. The ambulance had lost control on the ice and plowed into another car, which in turn hit the one ahead and so on.
Pain ran down her leg and she winced. She felt cold all over as though her father had opened the windows, but they were still closed tight against the frigid night. Her parents and sister craned their necks to see the accident up ahead, fear and relief showing in their faces of what might have been if they’d been nearer.
She picked up her portable keyboard and opened the door.
“Where are you going? You can’t get out on the bridge, honey!” her father called. She shut the door and started walking.
“Emma! Emma, get back here!” her mother yelled from her open window. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”
She walked as quickly as she could, her boots slipping on the slick asphalt. Icy rain pelted her face and slithered down the collar of her coat. She pulled the hood up over her head to keep the wind off her neck. People in other cars stared as she walked by. One lady opened her door and offered her the warm interior. She smiled and shook her head, moving on toward the silver Explorer with the door smashed in.
The crew from the ambulance was out of their vehicle and already trying to help whoever was inside. She stepped close enough to see a young man crumpled behind the steering wheel, his hair matted with blood. She put the strap of her keyboard over her neck, flipped the switch, and started to play.
“Hey kid, you gotta get outta here. We don’t need no concert. We’re trying to save this boy’s life,” one of the EMT’s said. They pushed past her with a stretcher.
She moved out of the way but continued to play, her fingers moving over the keys, colors washing up and through her to the boy in the truck. Even in the dark, she could see him wane; the dingy yellow mist that surrounded him began to float away. She played notes of healing and life, notes of grace and mercy, notes that could only come from God.
“I got a pulse here!” the medic yelled, bending over the boy’s body. “We’ve got to get this door open! We can’t work on him like this.”
“The Jaws of Life won’t get here anytime soon with these roads,” another man muttered.
One by one a group of spectators climbed from their cars and took up positions around her as she played, closing in like a warm blanket of protection from the freezing wind. They seemed to sense something momentous about to happen. And then it did.
“His eyes are opening,” said one of the men at the truck. He raised his voice to be heard over the keyboard and wind. “He’s conscious!”
A cheer went up from the gathering crowd and Emma stopped playing. Her fingers were like blocks of ice and she wondered how she’d managed to play at all. She stepped forward and saw the boy raise his head slightly. One of the medics said something to him and pointed her way. The boy shifted his gaze and met hers. A slow smile lit up his face and then the medics crowded in and the connection was lost.
“What in heaven’s name do you think you’re doing, Emma! You scared the living daylights out of us. You can’t just get out of a car on an expressway bridge and walk away. Do you know how dangerous that is?”
She threw her arms around her mother and laughed for joy. Her mother automatically hugged her back, but Emma knew there would be repercussions later.
*****
ZANDER WAS PUT INTO another ambulance as soon as they managed to extricate him from his dad’s wrecked truck. He didn’t know why they were making such a fuss over him. He felt fine. He had a few bumps and bruises, but they couldn’t find any broken bones or serious damage. One of the medics kept telling him he should have been dead, that he wasn’t breathing at one point and from the way the door was smashed against him they didn’t think he’d make it. He hoped they didn’t go around sharing such downer opinions with all their patients.
He used his cell phone and called home en route to the hospital. His dad answered.
“Zander? Dr Kapoor just called. He said you didn’t show up. What’s going on?” He sounded more perturbed than worried. His dad’s patience wore very thin these days. Ever since Uncle Frank made him Vice President of Howard Pharmaceuticals.
“I’m all right, Dad,” he said, knowing once the words accident and hospital came out of his mouth a gasket would blow.
“What’s that whining sound?”
He’d gotten used to the continuous whine of the vehicle’s siren, but he realized his dad would associate it with injury or worse. Adrenalin-powered emotions emanated from the team of medics around him and with his Dad on the line he needed to find his center. Dr. Kapoor had taught him to draw upon the positive times in his life, to center his mind on specific moments of joy. Like the time his dad came home early to take him fishing, even though he seldom took weekends off work. Or when his mom was seemingly normal after school, interested in his day and what he did. He closed his eyes and drew a calming breath. But the vision of a girl in a fur-collared white coat, playing a keyboard, was not a picture he’d been expecting. “What the ...” He opened his eyes.
“What did you say?” his dad asked.
“Nothing. I don’t want you to worry, Dad. I was in an accident and the truck has some damage on the driver’s side. But I’m not hurt,” he was quick to add. Before his dad could interrupt, he continued. “They’re taking me to Central Lake Hospital. They want to do some X-rays and stuff just in case. But I’m fine, really I am.”
“I’ll be right there, son.”
“Dad,” he said, “Be careful. It’s really icy out here.”
*****
HE’D BEEN EXPECTING his Dad to stride into the emergency room at any moment, to smile and give him a hug, relieved he was in one piece, but instead he was surprised by the appearance of Dr. Kapoor peeking his head around the pulled curtain that separated him from other ER patients.
“Alexander? How are you?” he asked, dark eyes round and observant. He approached the bed and put out a hand.
Zander clasped it and sat up. He was tired of lying here waiting. They’d looked him over with the proverbial fine-tooth comb and couldn’t find a thing wrong with him, but insisted he stay put until his father came. They wanted to run tests and take an x-ray of his head, just in case, but they needed parental permission.
“What are you doing here, Doctor? Did Dad call you?”
Dr. Kapoor nodded. “I’ve come to break you out.” He smiled brightly, then glanced around the curtain as though afraid someone might be listening. “We won’t go through regular channels, so you better put this on.” He reached inside his topcoat and drew out a stocking cap. “To cover your hair. Are you sure you’re all right? You must have gotten quite a gash to bleed like that.”
Zander reached up and tentatively felt around his scalp. “I don’t feel anything, ‘cept dried blood.”
“Well, luckily your head is very strong, as is your spirit.” He peeked around the curtain again. “It’s time to go.”
They walked as unobtrusively as possible, past a man with a broken leg, a doctor speaking quietly with a woman attached to a heart monitor, and two nurses talking in the corridor. No one even glanced in their direction.
Once outside the emergency entrance, Dr Kapoor led Zander to the parking lot where he’d left his car. The interior was still warm and a welcome haven from the freezing wind. He drove out into the street and merged with evening traffic. The glow from the dashboard lit up the doctor’s face. His brows were drawn together as though deep in thought.
“Why didn’t Dad pick me up?” Zander asked. He pulled the stocking cap off and scratched at his scalp.
The doctor didn’t take his eyes from the road. “Your father was worried he wouldn’t be able to get here in time, so he asked me to come.”
“In time for what? Hospitals never close, you know.”
The breath of a laugh escaped his nose. “You are so right,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.
“Then what?”
“Perhaps you should speak with your father about this.”
“I’m asking you. Obviously, you’re in the know or he wouldn’t have called you.”
The doctor finally glanced his way. “We cannot have any tests run on you, Alexander. The SensilineU40 may show up, or the results thereof. It could be disastrous for the company and the work we are trying to do.”
Zander heard the words, but he was listening to what the good doctor was not saying. Dr. Kapoor was afraid. Not of his father, but of someone, something, else. Perhaps Uncle Frank had threatened to fire him if anyone found out what they were working on, or worse yet, to destroy his credentials as a scientist. It was hard to tell with the good doctor. He was obviously doing something to block Zander from his thoughts.
“Where are we going? You have to get back on 494 to take me home.” He was tired and eager to go to bed. Maybe the accident shook him up more than he thought because every time he shut his eyes, he kept seeing that girl. It was like someone had burned her image on the inside of his eyelids. Who was she?
“We aren’t going directly there. We’ll stop at the lab and take x-rays. We can not allow the hospital access to your brain images, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care.” Zander saw the doctor’s teeth flash in a quick smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“What about my dad?”
“He’ll meet us there.”
He leaned back into the corner of the seat and door, resting his head against the cool window. He was tired. Exhausted really. Maybe he wasn’t thinking straight, but he was beginning to wonder if he could even trust his father. Why would he allow him to be taken from the hospital after an accident without being properly checked out? Was he worried about the company name more than his own son? He shifted and crossed his arms over his chest. Wouldn’t surprise him. After all, he wasn’t his real son. He closed his eyes. Again, the image of the girl appeared in his mind. They hadn’t even met and yet he felt like he knew her. Warmth and hope shone from her eyes, something he had a hard time finding these days. And music surrounded them both in a brilliant cocoon of sound.
“Zander. Wake up. We’re here.”
He jerked upright and looked around. The doctor had pulled up to the front entrance of Howard Pharmaceuticals and was waiting for him to get out. A piano sonata played softly on the radio. The next thing he knew, his father pulled open the car door and threw his arms around him in a fierce hug.
“Thank God you’re all right,” he muttered against Zander’s neck.
His father’s beard was rough and scratchy, but his thoughts were anything but. They were filled with remorse and self-loathing, love and relief.
“It’s okay, Dad. It’s not your fault.”
Dr. Kapoor cleared his throat, his eyes shifting upward to the lighted office windows on the top floor. “Perhaps you two should go inside where it’s warm.”
His father moved back, and Zander stepped out of the car onto the brick walkway. He could see the fountain inside the entrance, shooting upwards like a geyser. His father’s love was as predictable as that fountain. How could he ever have doubted him? But something held him to this company, something more than a name or a legacy, something dark and sinister. Did it have anything to do with him?
*****
EMMA DIDN’T KNOW WHY she was surprised. Appointments had to be kept or you lost your chance. That was life. The school board couldn’t be expected to wait for them forever, just because traffic sucked. She bit her lip and tried not to cry.
Her dad pulled away from the school and headed back in the direction they’d come. She could tell he was still upset about her exit from the car on the bridge, but he was disappointed too about the interview they’d missed. He knew how much she’d longed for the opportunity. “We’ll stop somewhere for dinner. Maybe after that the roads will have cleared up a bit and we can head home.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and caught her eye. “We’ll try again next year, honey.”
She wiped at a tear slipping down her cheek. The school only had one opening at semester break because a student had pulled out of the program after a death in his family. Emma knew getting in next semester would be near impossible.
“Where would you like to eat, kids?” Her mother asked as they drove through a brightly lit shopping area, fast-food restaurants dotting every corner.
“McDonalds!” Kylie chirped and pointed. “There it is!”
“Big deal,” Emma muttered, “there’s one on every corner.”
“Where would you like to go, Em?” her father asked, slowing for a light. “It’s your night.”
“Not anymore it isn’t.”
Her mother turned around to look back at her. “You’ve got to believe if God wanted you to go to that school, everything would have turned out differently.”
“So, you’re saying God caused that boy to almost get killed so I wouldn’t be able to keep my appointment? Wow, Mom, once again God is working everything out to your will.”
“Em.” Her dad’s voice held a warning. Do not cross the line.
She looked out the side window, staring mindlessly at the flow of life around them. Why would God allow such a thing? Why use her to give the boy another chance and take away the one chance she had? It wasn’t fair.
Her dad turned at the light and pulled into the fast food restaurant’s parking lot. He turned off the ignition and released a breath of frustration. Her mother was silent for once except for a quiet sniffle here and there.
“Look, Em, I know you’re disappointed. I am too. But you can’t use it as an excuse to disrespect your mother. She didn’t have anything to do with the weather, the accident, or the fact that you decided to get out of the car in the middle of danger and walk away.”
“Mom has never believed in me. She just wants me to stay in Hanover forever and stifle the talent God gave me so she’s happy. She’s got Kylie now, what more does she want?” She opened the door and started to get out.
“Close that door! You sit and listen for once.” Her father waited until she pulled the door closed before continuing his lecture. “Your mother and I love you very much and want what is best for you. We’ve struggled with how to deal with this whole healing thing you won’t let go of, but you’re sixteen-years-old now, Em. It’s time to grow up and stop living in an imaginary world. You don’t jump out of a car on a bridge during an accident to play the piano. They have emergency medical personnel to take care of accident victims. You. Can’t. Heal. People. With. Music,” he said, his words concise and cutting, spaced to emphasize his point.
Emma felt sorrow wash over her in a sea of jade. Her dad, the one person who always seemed to understand, now stood against her. She thought the gift God gave her made her special, that using it would bless her family and please Him. But everything was backwards. Her parents thought she was crazy, and apparently God didn’t want her to use her talent any further than Hanover.
“Emma, I want you to stop this fantasy. No more playing to heal people. From now on, your playing is just for enjoyment. I do not want a repeat of the situation tonight ever again. Promise me.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, but she refused to look at him. She kept her eyes trained outside on the parking lot, wet asphalt scattered with debris. There was nothing she could do to convince them that she had a God-given ability to heal. Her mother had been healed and refused to believe, even with proof staring her in the face every time she tucked Kylie into bed.
She finally met his eyes and nodded, then turned away and leaned her forehead against the cold glass.
“Honey, I’m sorry you missed the appointment. I really am.” Her mother was crying too, sniffling into a tissue. “I should have been more supportive, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you living so far away. It will be hard enough when you leave for college in a couple years.”
Emma sat silently, unresponsive. They had no faith. Not really. They witnessed miracles and refused to believe. Just like in the Bible. She wiped at her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her coat.
“Emma, I don’t care if we eat here. You can choose.” Kylie’s small, frightened voice reached out from the dark corner of the seat beside her. She never liked it when they argued. Her little sister was a born peacemaker.
“I don’t mind,” she said, wrapping her arm around Kylie and pulling her close. She kissed her soft cheek. “I like happy meals. Besides, I can eat all your fries while you play in the...” Pain stabbed through her heart. She gasped and hugged her sister tighter. It couldn’t be. Not this. Muted colors pulsed behind her eyes, strobing bright, then dim, until she thought she’d faint. She released her sister as if she were hot to the touch.
“What’s the matter?” Kylie asked, straightening.
Emma thrust the door open and stepped out into the cold. The wind hit her with icy fingers, sending a chill down her spine. She tipped her head back and glared at the night sky, a dingy midnight blue that soaked up the city lights like a dirty sponge. She wanted to yell, to scream, but no words came.
“What’s wrong, Em?” her Mother asked, climbing out of the car beside her. She put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t you feel well?”
“No, I don’t feel well. But if I told you why, you wouldn’t believe me anyway.” She trudged off toward the restaurant and left them to follow. They were probably making faces at each other, wondering how their daughter turned from a sweet adolescent into a moody teenager in the blink of an eye. But she didn’t care.
Was this a test?
The one person in the world she never wanted to see suffer would most certainly die if she stood by and did nothing. But what else could she do? She’d made a promise. Words served up in black and white. True or false. Right or wrong. Her music consisted of color—deep, bright, vibrant colors. How could she reconcile the two?
*****
“I DO NOT SEE A FRACTURE,” Dr. Kapoor finally said, standing before the lighted screen that lit the x-ray film, his lips puckered in thought. He flipped off the light and turned. “The blood must have come from somewhere else. I could not even find a cut on your head.”
Zander shrugged. “I feel fine. I told you there was nothing wrong with me. What’s really strange though is that the EMT said he thought I was dead. I guess I blacked out for a minute or something.”
His father looked worried again. He rubbed his beard as he always did when agitated. “Maybe the drugs did something to Zander to make him black out or his heart to stop. This is a dangerous game we’re playing, Akhilesh. We aren’t equipped to monitor his every move and we don’t know what these drugs are really doing to my son.”
“It was just an accident, Dad,” he said, surprised at his father’s vehemence. He’d never heard him so upset about the testing before. He’d been raised to cooperate, not to question. But lately he was questioning more and more. Just not out loud. Perhaps he had an ally in his father, someone he could finally divulge his secret thoughts to.
“His cardio is fine. He is in perfect condition. It was an accident as Alexander has said. You know the testing is not to be discussed.”
“Not to be discussed? My son could have been killed. Do you know what that would have done to his mother?”
“Do you know what it would have done to me?” Zander asked, mildly perturbed that they were once again speaking about him as though he weren’t even in the room.
His father stared blankly at him for a second before releasing the grunt of a laugh. Even Dr. Kapoor grinned, although he seemed confused by the joke.
He stifled a yawn and picked up his jacket. “Can we go home now? I’m really tired.”
“Go out to the car. I’ll be there in a minute,” his father said.
He shrugged. Obviously, they were going to discuss him behind his back again. He slipped his jacket on and went out the security door into the hallway. Through the window he could see his dad and the doctor in a heated discussion. Then his dad broke into a smile and pulled Dr. Kapoor into a bear hug, patting his back as though they were long-lost brothers or something.
Not until they were pulling out of the parking lot did Zander realize Dr. Kapoor had forgotten to give him his injection of SensilineU40. The glow from a streetlight lit up the interior of the car as they turned onto the boulevard. His father reached out and patted his knee, a smile curving his lips, almost as though he’d read his mind.