Chapter 2: A Student of Science

Deltona, Florida
15 years ago

Every kid in central Florida could tell you what summers consisted of. Eight year old Michael Clark was no different; he knew that June, July and August meant no school, tons of playing outside in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks and afternoon showers. Daily between the times of four and four thirty big black clouds would billow in and dump buckets of water along with pounding thunder and cracking lighting. During these events the kids were all called in by their parents and forced to wait it out.

"Michael, Cassie!" Mrs. Clark called from the sliding glass door. "Time to come in kids, it's going to rain."

Both children had been hoping, as all children do, that their mother hadn't noticed the darkening of the landscape and the distant rumbles of thunder. Michael looked at his five year old sister and gave her another backhanded splash of water as he swam lazily toward the stairs of their pool. Her cheeks puffed up and her face turned red as she made to dive for him but he easily escaped her advances.

"Still too slow Cas." He snickered collecting his striped beach towel and drying his face.

"I HATE YOU!" She howled as she clumsily ascended the stairs in rage.

Both children jumped as they heard a loud boom echoing nearby.

"Quit goofing around." Michael changed his tone to seriousness. "Get out of their; you know where there's thunder there's lightning."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She sang bored like as she climbed from the water. "You know it never really hits the ground. 'Sides it would never really hit us." She smiled as she gave him a hearty shove toward the pool.

He stumbled, his towel still over his head, and tipped off the edge smacking the surface of the pool water hard. He heard Cassie's shrieking giggled then another loud crack. Her laughs stopped suddenly and he felt a strange tickle lick through his feet up his spine and into his head.

When he broke through the top of the water he only heard Cassie screaming. He fumbled with the towel to get it off his face and was surprised to see her, arms rigidly at her sides hollering her head off. Mrs. Clark's foot steps came pounding on the pavement. He could feel little as he wondered what had happened. Mrs. Clark wrapped her arms Cassie and shouted at Michael. "I said get out of there! You've scared your sister!"

Cassie wiggled free as Mrs. Clark waited sternly for Michael to climb out of the pool. When he had completely exited it she pointed an angry finger at him. "Now don't go back in there. Finish drying off and come inside."

Michael flopped his wet towel over the back of the lawn chair next to his sister and glowered at her. "Thanks Cassie." He grumbled. "Now you've gone and gotten me in trouble."

"But…but…but…" she stuttered. "You…the lightening…you…and…"

"Spit it out!" He hissed snatching her towel away from her and drying his head.

"Lightening struck you in the pool!"

Michael Clark
Enterprise, Florida
Present Day

The mid day in early winter was warm on the boat dock of the St. John's River. This area was rarely visited by the boaters and was only used by those who knew the area well. It was quiet and sleepy, that's why 23 year old Michael Clark liked to use it for studying. He was half way through his first semester of graduate school and found the view, with the gentle breeze and mild orange blossom fragrant air peaceful.

He was not alone today as was common place in this particular location. A pot bellied and wrinkled old man was perched in his flannelled shirt and jean overalls on the dock across from the one Michael had nestled himself on under a sprawling oak tree. He was fishing his afternoon away while the college boy read a thick book.

"Whachoo readin' son?" the old man called across the space to Michael.

"A book about the possibility of gene mutation." He responded plainly and reached behind him and lifted another book. "And something about neuroreceptors, neurotransmitters and synapses."

"Say what?" The old man's country twang sounded genuinely confused rather than arrogant as some would expect. "I reckon that an old man like me wouldn't need to know nothin' about neurogenes and the like. I just get by with my fishin' and social security." He chuckled friendly like.

"Not neurogenes." Michael smiled politely. "Neuroreceptors, gene mutation, and synapses."

"Whatchoo talkin' 'bout?" The man asked.

Michael climbed to his feet and headed over to the man. "I think there's something wrong in my brain. That's that I mean." He stopped in front of the old man and pointed down to his feet. At the bottom of his jeaned legs was a pair of shoeless feet. "No shoes." He pointed back at his path. "Solid concrete between you and me."

The old man nodded acknowledging Michael's declarative statements.

"Neurotransmitters are instructions from your brain, telling your body to do an action. Neuroreceptors are things in your brain that accept the command, and synapses are the link in between the two. Like if you think to yourself, 'I want to cast this fishing rod' and then your body follows through with your thought. You follow me?" Michael paused waiting to see if the old man understood what he was saying. When the man stared at him blankly Michael shook his head and started over. "All right, are you familiar with the military?"

"Two wars! I served in two wars sonny; I know all about it."

"Excellent. Consider that the neurotransmitter is the sergeant. And the neuroreceptor is the private. The sergeant, neurotransmitter, tells the private, neuroreceptor, what to do. The words he says, the command, are the synapses. It works the same way in the brain only microscopically."

"And yurs don't work?" The man, now understanding, asked. He looked down at Michael's feet wondering what that had to do with the scatterbrained boy's description of nuero-whos-its.

Michael laughed. "No, I think they over work. See the command, the synapse, fire sparks of electricity."

"Wait, wait, wait." The man held up a hand. "Are you saying we're electrical?"

"I am." Michael nodded. "But not so much that you would notice." He pointed back down to his feet. "I just walked across that concrete ground. The air is humid, as is typical here, which means I have accumulated very little static electricity charge and shouldn't be able to shock you, right?"

"Shock me? Heck no sonny, it ain't the right weather for that!" The man said with a full heart and head of conviction.

Michael raised his index finger and looked at it for a moment and then reached out to the man. As his hand neared the old fellow a purple bolt of electricity jumped from his finger to the man, shocking him. The static electric charge cracked and the man gave a small start. "I'll be dog-goned, that smarts."

"It always happens if I don't think about not shocking someone."

"Every time?"

"Without fail." Michael nodded. "I think my synapses are broken. Or I'm a conductor…or both. I've been struck by lightening 7 and a half times – and survived."

"How's a half?" The old man's interest was piqued and he set his rod aside.

"Well I was a Disney World with my family when I was 12. You know Orlando is the lighting capital of the world right…just behind the rainforests of Africa?" He waved a hand. "Well if you didn't, it is. Being a suburb of Orlando we get lots of lightning. Anyway," the old man noticed that Michael was easily side tracked but he was still patient enough with younger fellow. "Because of the frequent lightning strikes the Disney Company has several lighting rods throughout their parks. I was near one, it attracted the lighting first as it was higher but the bolt promptly jumped to me knocking me out of my sneakers. I consider it a half time, since I wasn't the first target."

The old man was amused by his story and clucked his tongue approvingly. But Michael lifted his arm and rubbed the skin on his forearm then turned his attention skyward. "A storm is coming. I'd put that rod away if I were you. Lighting does strike humans. Trust me." He trailed off absentmindedly but seemed to snap out of it and looked back at the old man. "That rod will act as a conductor."

"Thanks sonny." The old man smiled and reached out to clap Michael on his shoulder but Michael slipped out of is reach. The old man looked hurt at first, but allowed the expression to evaporate as he recalled the last near contact they had had. "Thanks again sonny. I wouldn't wanna get shocked."

Michael gave a small bow to the old man and nodded. "See ya around."

He watched the old man toss his rod and tackle box into the bed of a decrepit looking old rusty pick-up on its last leg. He smiled, it fit the old man's worn but comfortable personality. He moseyed back to his books and bag. The sky was turning gray rather quickly and as a result Michael hurried to pack his books up.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and spun to dash toward the bike rack where he'd chained his cycle just as light rain started to fall from the sky. However, when he turned two men were just behind him. He jumped back instinctively, taking in the appearance of a tall lithe black man and a middle aged man with horn-rimmed glasses.

"Hello Mr. Clark, might we get a word with you?" Asked the man with the glasses…