Chapter 2.

It's Different This Time.

David was on his way to work for the evening shift and there was a continual stream of cold rain pouring down outside as he came in the employee entrance at the diner. He heard a song by Eddie Rabbit playing on the radio as he hung up his coat. David considered for a moment and determined that he did not love this rainy night. December in the city was cold enough without the rain.

"Hi David," Susan said as she came back to get a pen and paper. She was a friendly 20-something, with shoulder length blond hair and a jaunty bounce in her step.

"Hello Susan."

"It's been a slow night. Ellie and I are thinking of bugging out early and going to the movies. We want to see Neighbors. I've heard good things, and I love John Belushi!"

Even the way she emphasized the word 'love' irritated him. David just grunted a non-committal "mm-hmm," and put his apron on.

An hour into his shift, a group of teenaged boys came in and sat down in his section.

"I just liked the first movie better", said a boy with fair red hair.

"I dunno," said another, "I liked Eastwood better as Dirty Harry." He then reenacted the popular 'Do I feel lucky?' scene, using a 3rd boy as his counterpoint.

"What can I get you boys?" David asked as he stopped at their table.

The boy who fancied himself as Dirty Harry looked David up and down and said, "You can get us Cindy, this is her shift ain't it?"

"Not tonight," David replied, shaking his head. "She took the night off, so you've got me instead."

"Guess she's not as sweet on you as you thought, eh Micky?!" the third boy taunted.

"Hey, watch it or I'll rearrange your face, Tompkins!"

Tompkins held up his hands in mock innocence, while the red headed boy said, "Three coffees to start."

David nodded and headed off to get the coffee. As he passed another of his tables, a man grabbed his arm.

"Hey buddy, I ordered a meatball sub. This is chicken parm!"

"I'm sorry sir. That's my mistake."

"You're damn right it is."

"I'll get you the meatball instead."

"Don't bother. Just get me the check, and make sure I'm not charged for this," the man shoved the dinner plate with disgust in David's direction. He heard the man muttering something about the poor quality of service as David made his way behind the counter. David knew that Dan was likely to take the cost of the chicken parm dinner out of his pay, but he Just didn't care.

He dropped the check off to the man on his way back to the table of teens with three coffees.

"Alright, here you are: three coffees. Can I get you boys anything else?"

"Yeah pops, you can get me a stack of pancakes and bacon, Tompkins will take a southwestern omelet with toast, and you can get Randy here two buttermilk waffles with sausage on the side," said Mickey with a grin. Randy and Tompkins snickered.

David sighed. "We stop serving breakfast after 11:00 AM. But you were expecting Cindy to be working this shift, so you already knew that, didn't you Mickey? Now would you like to order something else, or are you done wasting my time?"

At this challenge, Mickey's smile disappeared and he looked icily at David. "Just bring us the check."

David tore off the top check of his pad and placed it firmly on the table before walking away.

The next six hours of his shift passed at a snails pace. He busied himself with cleaning coffee pots, restocking napkin holders and salt and pepper shakers. He managed to avoid being drawn into any conversations with Susan or Ellie, though he could feel them staring at him while they spoke in hushed tones.

At the end of his shift, David hung up his apron and punched out. He stepped outside and a blast of cold air struck him in the face, as if old man winter himself had reached out to slap him. Once the sun went down, the brutal winter wind would rip through the canyons of steel and cut a man as sure as a razor blade. He was glad to see it finally stopped raining and was thankful he had his heavy wool Pea coat.

He became aware of three figures following him as he made his way downtown. He turned back to see who it was and realized it was the three teens from earlier that night. Once they saw David turn their way, the trio hustled up to David and gave him a shove from behind. David lost his footing on the slick road, but managed to regain it in time to avoid landing face-first on the pavement.

"Hey, what's your problem?" David asked.

"You, pops." came Mickey's reply.

Tompkins gave David another shove.

"Stop that!" Shouted David.

"Make me," taunted Tompkins. He gave David another shove

"I'm warning you - don't make me angry"

This only made the motley trio laugh before they all grabbed David and threw him headfirst into a group of trash cans at the end of an alley. David hit the ground hard. Before he knew it, he was being kicked savagely by the three teens. He reached out in agony at a nearby broomstick in the pile of trash. He managed to grab it and swung it round in anger at the boy nearest to him. The swing caught Mickey in the ankle and he fell down, grasping his wound and swearing. Tompkins and Randy took a step back to avoid being hit.

David could feel his anger overwhelm him and he gave himself over to it completely. Before he had time to think, he was standing again and raining hard blows with the broomstick down on Mickey. He kept hitting and hitting until the broomstick broke and the boys fled back to the street, Tompkins and Randy dragging a whimpering Mickey behind them.

Panting, David stood looking down at the broken broomstick still in his pale white hand. He dropped the stick and it's hollow clattering echoed down the empty alley.

"My God, what's happening to me?"

The Call.

It was a week before Christmas and David was beginning to reconsider his decision to stay in New York City this time of year. Even though there was little snow on the ground, it was brutally cold owing to a nearly constant wind that would rip through a person. The non-stop stream of chilling rain didn't help either. Weather this cold, wet and miserable was hard to handle at the best of times, but it was especially difficult being so close to Christmas. He longed for the snowy winters of his youth.

Christmas had always been his favorite holiday growing up. He loved having the family together, including extended family; the relatives from out of town that he only saw on such occasions. Thanksgiving was a close second, but that was just after harvest season and he hated the harvest, growing up on a farm. Christmas was much more relaxing. Even though it was colder, the snow didn't get into your bones the way this New York rain did.

The television news droned on in the background, as David opened the can of chicken-noodle soup and poured the contents into the pot on the stove.

"President Ronald Reagan issued a stern warning to Moscow today over what he calls 'soviet aggression' in Poland..."

As he stirred the soup, his thoughts drifted back to last Thanksgiving, when he spoke to his dad on the phone. He had kept the fact that he survived the fire at the Culver Institute a secret even from his family up until the previous Thanksgiving, when he could no longer bear to be away. He remembered helping his sister Helen develop new ways to rid his dad's crops of the insects that were plaguing him. That was last year. This year, when David had called to check in with Helen and his Dad, he was told that Helen had been battling Anemia. Though his dad had told him it was a mild case, the news still made the bottom of his stomach drop out. He couldn't help but think of his mother. She had suffered from a severe case when David was a boy, before she passed away. Lost in thought, David almost let the soup boil over.

"In Nicaragua, Sandinista soldiers have killed 75 miners. The miners had been demanding back wages for work unpaid...", continued the television broadcast.

David removed the soup from the burner, poured it into a bowl and poured a glass of water.

"Channel 7 Nightly News will be back after this commercial break."

As David sat down to his soup at the table, he was startled by the ringing telephone. He hadn't received a call since Larry fired him from his maintenance job over a month ago. He almost forgot he even had a telephone. He turned off the T.V. and answered the telephone.

"Hello?"

"David?"

"Dad? What's wrong?"

David had left his number with his dad when they spoke on Thanksgiving, but only because he knew his dad would only use it in case of emergency, lest someone discover he was still alive and on the run.

"It's Helen son... She's taken a turn for the worst, and I think you need to come back home. Soon."

David hung up the phone, gathered his belongings and headed out the door; the bowl of soup still steaming on the table.

Flight.

An hour later, David sat in the waiting lounge of LaGuardia Airport. The ticket had cost him all of his savings. He had another paycheck coming from the Empire Diner, but he couldn't wait until morning to talk to Dan. Besides, he knew he was going to have to change identities and he would never see Dan or Susan or Ellie or anyone from the diner again and that always made things awkward. He knew this would happen. It happened every time. He had learned not to become too attached to his environment since his accident. Still, there was usually someone he connected with on his travels. Things had been different in New York though.

The thing that troubled him the most was the night the teens attacked him. Something like that had always triggered a transformation before. Why had it not that time? Did this mean he was cured? Had his disease finally run its course? He wasn't sure if he wanted that outcome. He had been full of rage and more angry than he had ever been at another person before. If this meant he was cured, did it also mean he was left with a short temper and the desire to destroy when provoked? What kind of life could he live like that? At least up until now, people were left searching for a 7 foot tall, hulking green monster. He could still hide his true appearance and identity. But if he was still consumed by uncontrollable rage and no longer transformed, then people would be looking for David Banner.

He thought of the last time he had been so depressed. He knew that's what it was now. The last time was in San Francisco, where he'd met the beautiful psychic named Annie. What was it he had said to Annie? "The curse may not be the creature that I turn into, but the man that I've become." She probably thought he was being melodramatic, but those words were becoming more poignant by the day.

45 minutes later, he was on flight 83, headed to Atlanta, where he would pick up a connecting flight to the regional airport that serviced Treverton. He was packed into a plane that felt like it was little more than a can with wings, loaded with a hundred or so other people. The passenger list was complete with screaming kids, and sick adults who kindly shared their air-born maladies with everyone on board. He wondered how long before he got sick himself. This was easily the worst Christmas he'd had in a very long time. Perhaps ever. He was never one to feel claustrophobic, but he could feel a sense of frustration building inside. He was beginning to want everyone around him gone. He didn't care where they went, just not here. He thought of an old Twilight Zone episode where a boy had acquired god-like powers and could simply close his eyes and wish everyone away.

Then he thought of Helen, sick in the Grail Valley Hospital. He didn't know how bad her condition was, but he knew it was bad for his dad to reach out to him the way he did. This made him feel even worse. He had spent his evening and early morning feeling bad for himself; annoyed and irritated at every trivial thing in his life, while his sister lay in a hospital bed, fighting an uncertain future.

He was suddenly very tired and weary of life. He stretched back as much as he could, to try and get some rest. He soon fell asleep. In his dream, he was back at the Culver Institute. He went about his day the way he had every day before his accident, except he realized that he was wearing a mask. No one else in the dream seemed to notice. When he got home at night and took off the mask, he looked in a mirror but no longer recognized the face staring back at him.

Helen.

Touchdown came with the new day, and David found D.W. waiting for him at the gate.

"Hello David."

"Hi dad."

The two embraced for a moment before D.W. led David out to where he'd parked the truck.

"You look tired son. Did you get any sleep?"

"A little on the flight, but not much. I haven't been sleeping well."

David put his pack in the back of the pickup truck cab, just behind his seat and settled in for the ride to the hospital.

"We can go to the house if you want to catch up on some sleep."

"No. I can't sleep right now. I need to see Helen."

D.W. nodded, and started the pickup truck. He drove to the parking lot exit and made the turn toward the Grail Valley Hospital.

The sun was shining and there was a nice coating of snow on the ground. It was a welcome change from the dismal New York winter he had left behind.

"How is she doing?" It was the question he had been dreading the answer to, but one that could not be avoided.

"Not good. The doctors say she's got Aplastic Anemia, like your mom had before she died."

David sighed heavily. "Have they tried radiation therapy?"

"Yes, but it only helped for a week or so. She's continued to get worse since then."

"That means the only option left is... Allogeneic bone marrow transplant."

D.W. nodded.

David's mind was already reeling when it came upon another realization. "But you're too old to be a donor, and that leaves..."

"David, you know if there was another way, I'd-"

"Dad, I can't! I wish that I could, but... you remember my disease? It's affected my DNA. The DNA in my bone marrow might mutate hers and infect Helen with what I've got. I can't take that chance with her life."

"Son, you're the only chance she has for life. The doctors say that if she does get a marrow transplant soon, it's only a matter of days before we lose her."

David turned sullen and looked out the window at the trees and bushes dotting the landscape as it rolled by. In truth, he wasn't entirely sure he was still suffering from his affliction after the episode with the teens in New York. And even so, could his DNA mutation pass to his sister through a transplant? It was a question with only one way to answer, and his sister's life was at stake. He'd been reckless and impatient before - that's what got him into this predicament - and he didn't want to multiply it by sharing his affliction with Helen. He was still conflicted and largely undecided about the idea when they arrived at the hospital.

Helen lay sleeping in the Intensive Care Unit when they entered. David's heart sank. She was pale as snow, and had lost so much weight since he last saw her.

David sighed resignedly, turned to his dad and said, "I'll do it."

Transfusion.

D.W. gave David a "thumbs up" sign from doorway as he was wheeled into the Operating Room. He looked over to his left and saw Helen, sleeping peacefully.

"Alright David, " the anesthesiologist said, "I want you to focus on my forehead and count backwards for me, starting at 20." He placed a mask over David's mouth and nose.

David was engulfed by the scent of rubber from the mask as he started to count down.

"Twenty. Nineteen ... Eighteen ... Seventeen ... Sixteen ... Fifteen ... Fourte...

He awoke in a hospital room that was empty save for himself and D.W., who was reading the paper. He felt as though he had a mouth full of cotton stuffing.

"Drink," he said weakly, and tried to swallow.

D.W. got up and poured some ice water into a light salmon colored plastic hospital cup. He helped David sit up, and handed him the cup.

David drank slowly, thankful to be rid of the cotton feeling in his mouth.

"How is Helen?" He grimaced a bit as he leaned over to place the cup on the table beside him. He felt a soreness in his hip where they'd taken the bone marrow.

"She's good. She's resting in her bed in the I.C.U.. The doctor said you might be a little sore in the hip for a day or two, but you're cleared to go see her as soon as you feel up to it."

"Good. Maybe in an hour or so, after the affects of the anesthesia wear off." He collapsed back onto the bed, and closed his eyes to rest.