CHAPTER 2: Awakening
Outside St. Anthony's Hospital, Oklahoma City; April 16, 2011; 9:41 AM
The Professor had arrived in Oklahoma City earlier during the night, along with Scott, Jean and Storm. All had mutually decided to spend the remainder of the night in the X-Jet, which now sat in stealth-mode outside city limits. Professor Xavier knew all too well how humanity reacted to the presence of mutants, and stumbling upon a supersonic jet outside a major city would certainly not help matters.
As Storm was returning from investigating the scene where Jason and his father were found, the Professor, Jean and Scott took the Professor's private car into the city—having stored the car in the cargo bay before departing the Institute. While conspicuous, it was certainly less so than a jet. Now the three had come to the St. Anthony's Hospital that morning. The first thing that hit them was that it was a very large hospital; it was quite breathtaking.
"Quite a stately hospital," Jean said.
"Indeed," the Professor replied. "Naturally it has to be to accommodate the amount of patients it sees every day."
"I have to ask:" Scott said, breaking the mood. "How are we going to find Jason in this place?"
"Patience, Scott," replied the Professor. "Every obstacle can be overcome with enough perseverance…" Xavier then looked ahead. "…although some obstacles can be more aggravating than others."
Jean's and Scott's gaze followed the Professor's: stairs. "Yeah, I suppose they are…" Scott said, with a touch of humor.
Jean looked around. She saw many people coming towards or going away from the hospital doors, and felt saddened at the scene. Most of these people had loved ones in this hospital for various reasons, and a small percentage of them had loved ones that would never leave this hospital alive despite the doctors' best efforts. Soon several news vans parked in the lots drew her attention. It was possible they were here for a scoop on the tornado story, she considered with a growing scowl. While she knew the importance of reporting the news, she still felt somewhat repulsed at such eagerness to get the story regardless of the personal feelings of the victims. Had reporters no respect?
"We'd best get moving," Charles abruptly said while moving towards a handicap-accessible ramp. "When Jason awakens, they will likely run tests on him. We will have to wait until his tests are over, and hopefully, find out which room he will be taken to."
Scott frowned. "Not to be Johnny Rain Cloud, but why should the hospital just let us in to see a patient that has—to them—no ties to us?"
Charles had to smile. "Leave that to me. In the meantime, I suggest you keep close."
Scott groaned. "I hate hospitals."
XXXXXXXXXX
"Try to keep still, Jason. Even the slightest movements can muddy the readings."
Jason raised a thumbs-up wordlessly to show he understood, although he inwardly squirmed at the thought of holding still for God knows how long. Trying to relax, he felt the sterile air of the hospital make him sleepy as his eyes scoped the CT scanner. He thought his back couldn't feel any stiffer, but he was proven wrong as soon as he was laid on the table. He tried his hardest to make himself more comfortable as he slid into the space in the scanner, which reminded him of a washing machine.
He heard the machine kick on and start to whir as the scan began. As he lay there, his mind started to work. He could hardly believe that just last night went where it did and so quickly. Now he was here, his memories painfully muddy. He knew he got hurt in that tornado, but when he tried to delve into the details, he could feel needles of insanity lance him as he did.
Jason was no slouch at science; he was among the top of his class in science and math, and so he recalled his education in search for answers. He heard of brain disorders that needed only a specific thought pattern to cause an attack, but those disorders were often genetic and elusive. In addition, he had no idea regarding the extent of his injuries, particularly underneath his skin. For all he knew, it was just trauma…a fact that unsettled him.
Before even coming to his room, doctors and techs told him they were looking for. They suspected brain trauma as a result from being caught in the twister's circulation. Jason clenched his hands and unclenched them repeatedly; they felt like they were crackling with electricity. His mind raced to find an answer, upsetting his headache. He cursed mentally; even thinking hurt.
The supervising technician spoke to him. "Jason, you need to keep still. That includes your hands."
"That's all right, we're just about done anyway," Dr. Sontagg intervened. "Are your hands hurting again?"
"Yeah," Jason managed, exhaling sharply. "A lot."
"It's called parethesia; usually it's only 'pins and needles' but sometimes it's more painful. Do you feel any numbness?"
"No, just burning and tingling, like I grabbed an electric fence." Jason breathed hard while his hands constantly clenched and unclenched.
"We're not going to see what's causing your parethesia until the techs return with the results. That should be soon though." Dr. Sontagg reached behind the desk and brought out two stress balls. "Here, try these. I give these to people who get antsy before the CT scanning. We can bring them to the next test if you wish."
Jason eyed the rubber balls in the doctor's hands. "Might work. What's the next test again?" Jason unconsciously rubbed his hands together. Lightning shot up his nerves, burning his muscles and ripping his arms from each other. Jason gasped and yelled, "God, it hurts! Make it stop!"
"2cc of icine, stat!" Dr. Sontagg commanded. As a nurse injected the colorless medicine through the IV channel, Dr. Sontagg urged Jason. "Jason, breathe deep. Relax."
Within seconds, the pain faded but Jason could feel it still burning his muscles like thorns. As his breathing slowed and his eyes pooled with hot tears, Jason rubbed his bandaged head, unaware that his free hand had started twitching. "What's happening to me?"
Dr. Sontagg noticed the spasm. "We're going to start the EEG next. Along with the CT, it should show us what's going on." Dr. Sontagg laid the stress balls on Jason's chest. "We'll be right back with the gurney to take you there. Relax and breathe, Jason."
Jason watched them leave, or tried to. His gaze fell to the balls on his chests. He had one back in his room, and he used it frequently while thinking. A polyurethane foam rubber ball in the hands was strangely relaxing. He wasn't sure if squeezing the balls would help or hurt his hands, but he was willing to risk it. He grabbed for the balls. Suddenly, green bolts of energy shot all around his hands and the balls. Stunned, Jason dropped the balls, but they were fastened to his palms. Gasping in fright, he watched with dread and awe as the rubber balls melted over his flesh, between his fingers and down his wrist. The rubber seared his flesh, streaming tears from his eyes. Jason cried out in agony as the transformation continued unabated.
The door burst open, doctors rushing into the room when they heard Jason scream "Get it off! Get it off!" They were greeted with something bizarre: Jason's wrists were bound in black rubber, but were steaming freshly, occasionally lanced with green bolts of energy. Doctors quickly rushed to Jason to calm him down but balked. Finally, Jason was given a sedative as a nurse inspected the hands. Jason stopped screaming; his eyes rolled back and fell unconscious.
Now quiet, the doctors studied the alien material. Dr. Sontagg probed at it with a gloved hand and was shocked. It was the same material that the rubber ball was, only now stretched over his hands.
The nurse spoke for them all. "What happened here?"
Dr. Sontagg shook his head, completely baffled. "I don't know…"
XXXXXXXXXX
Susan hadn't left her watch at the ICU. As soon as Jason disappeared into radiology, she returned to watch over her husband, Patrick. He still had not regained consciousness; it had been over twelve hours now and there was no apparent change. She watched without seeing as nurses come in, check on him and the other ICU patients, then leave again. Several times she watched this maddening cycle, and it wore at her every time. Her mind echoed with a looming question: how she was going to tell Jason and Bethany that their father will never be able to walk ever again? She knew what needed to be done to keep the family together: she would have to find a job, and Jason might have to as well after recovering. Financially, they may be fine, but how would they do where it mattered most? Jason was sixteen and was already getting offers from technical colleges around the country. Jason was seriously considering becoming a technician for the armed forces, designing new types of armor for soldiers, SWAT teams and eventually policemen. He had presented how it is possible to make durable but lightweight armor, using a galvanized carbon shell, filled with a tight weave of spider fiber. Sourcing a recent breakthrough of genetically-modified silkworms making spider silk, he stated that weaves thick enough can make an armor type that would rival Kevlar, but be lighter and more cost effective. Jason had practiced the presentation in front of his parents before going to regionals a few days later.
Susan smiled at the memory. Over an hour before the storm last night, she received a call from her husband that Jason won first place in the regionals. She was never so more proud of their son. Patrick had said when they would be home, but when the allotted time came and gone, neither returned and there was no word. It wasn't until another hour later did she receive a phone call…from the hospital. Now, she was here, stuck neck deep in despondency as her husband continued to sleep and her son was gone from her sight.
As she fretted, she didn't notice someone joined her in observing the activity in the ICU: a bald man in a wheelchair had silently rolled up and was watching the nurses tend to other patients; some were victims of the same tornado. The man's eyes moved about the room, as if he was searching for something. After some time, he leaned back in his wheelchair and exhaled. Startled, Susan looked at the man. "Oh! I'm terribly sorry…"
The man, startled by the woman's reaction, quickly replied. "No, the fault is mine. I should have let you know that I was here." He offered a hand. "I am Professor Charles Xavier."
Susan took the hand. "Susan Downs." Susan looked at the wheelchair and suppressed a shudder, her husband's fate.
The Professor seemed not to notice. "A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Downs." The Professor looked into the ICU, taking pity on all those inside. "You know someone in there?"
"My husband. My son was in there too, but he was taken for testing." Susan stifled another attack of tears. Despite the friendliness of this stranger, she couldn't bear breaking down in front of him.
The Professor blanched. "Your husband and son? I'm so sorry. It must have been a terrible accident."
"No, it wasn't an accident." Susan started to say, but choked. Recovering, she continued, "My husband, Patrick, and my son, Jason, were coming back home from a school event, and then…" She felt herself choke up again. "…the tornado…"
The Professor looked up at Susan, and there was the slightest hint of astonishment on his face. "Oh dear, I didn't realize…" the Professor cut himself off, looking for a place for the weary and grieving mother to sit down. "Do you need to sit down, Mrs. Downs?"
Susan involuntarily took out a well-used handkerchief from her purse and patted away the fresh wetness from her eyes. "Please, call me Susan." She silently accepted the Professor's offer to sit down.
"Very well; then you may call me Charles if you so wish." The Professor led Susan to a chair, turning it to park it perpendicular to the chair Susan just sat down in.
XXXXXXXXXX
Jean and Scott waited in the front lounge of the outpatient clinic, passing the time each their own way. The Professor had gone on ahead into the rest of the hospital towards the ICU, leaving his two students behind. Scott was chafing; he didn't like being in a hospital, even in the lounge. So he sat next to Jean nervously, scoping the place as if it was the Danger Room.
In a stark contrast, Jean was reading a magazine patiently, no more minding her surroundings than the breeze on a sunny day. She kept her mind open as she read, however, waiting for any mental ping from Professor X about anything. As she waited, she could feel Scott's stress rumble through his mind like a thunderstorm, and it was distracting. After a few minutes, she finally had enough. "Will you quit it, Scott!?"
Scott physically jumped at such a stern request from Jean. "Quit what?"
"It! You're fidgeting like a ferret, and it's distracting."
Scott's scowled behind his ruby-quartz lenses. "Sorry! I just hate hospitals."
Jean still looked cross. "Yes, you've said that before."
Scott sighed. "You don't understand."
Jean slammed her magazine down on her lap. "Scott, we've known each other for God knows how long, and that's all you've got to say? Just how long is it going to take for you to be honest with me!?"
Scott pursed his lips, but leaned back from Jean's outburst. "Jean! Can you keep it down?"
Jean was about to object, but then grew aware at the gathering stares that she had drawn towards her. Feeling redder than her hair, she spoke out to the curious onlookers. "Sorry! I just…uh…I'm just going to…uh…" Jean gave up and hastily picked up the magazine again, aware of the chortling.
Scott had to smile, but sobered up at seeing Jean glare at him. "Scott, if you don't tell me what is going on in two seconds, I will throw you out the door and I won't have to use my powers."
Scott gulped; despite weighing more than her, Jean wouldn't let that stop her from fulfilling her threat. Jean did have a point, though. He trusted Jean with his own issues; they were just uncomfortable to talk about. He sighed resignedly. "It's just…not something I want to talk about."
Jean arched an eyebrow. "But?"
"But…you have a point. Yeah…" Scott sighed, gathering his thoughts for the uncomfortable push. "You know that I lost my Mom, my Dad and my brother in the plane crash right?"
"Yeah, you told me that several months ago."
"Remember that I told you that I woke up in a hospital? The doctor said I was out for three weeks." Jean could see Scott blink behind his opaque shades. "Every time I come into a hospital, I—" Scott cut himself short, and Jean didn't need telepathy to guess the rest.
"You remember that day," she finished. Now she felt like a perfect heel for reacting the way she did at Scott's behavior now. Berating herself on her insensitivity, she said sorrowfully, "I'm sorry, Scott."
"It's okay. I just wish the Professor would hurry up. I may have to step outside soon." Scott suppressed a shudder.
"If you need to, go ahead. The Professor will take all the time that he needs. Besides, Jason may still be in testing. He's probably waiting or talking to the mother if she's here. I can wait here."
"Well, maybe that's a good—" Scott was interrupted by a phone ring from Jean's pocket.
Jean picked up the phone and looked at the caller ID. "It's Storm!" Jean answered the phone. "Hello?" Scott sat back down as Jean continued the phone call. It was short but informative. Soon, Jean hung up. "She got the photos and she's almost here."
Scott sniffed. "Well, so much for my getaway plan…"
Jean wrapped her arms around Scott's free arm. "Well, you can always just do what normal people do and just relax."
Scott froze slightly when he felt her arms wrapped around his. Refocusing his mind, he said, "Sorry, I don't know how."
Jean's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah, I can tell."
XXXXXXXXXX
Minutes passed by in the dozens as both Susan and the Professor continued to converse about her family, which seemed to always manage to circumnavigate back to Jason himself. At first, Susan paid no notice, but as the trend continued, she had to wonder why the focus kept returning to her son. Most would eventually grow bored and move on to another topic, but not the Professor apparently. Even though her husband was in far worse condition—more or less—the Professor didn't seem interested in his welfare. Who was this man, and what did he want? Was it just a slip in manners, or was he interested in something more about Jason? She felt she needed to ask, "If you will pardon me…but why did you come here?"
The Professor had expected that type of question, and appeared to be prepared. "As a matter of fact, I came to talk to you about Jason…although it seems we have quite a bit now."
Despite the fact her suspicions were confirmed, Susan still felt surprised. Part of her wanted to leave, but another part of her was curious. "What…else do you need to know about him?"
"We briefly talked about the Regional Expo in Enid. A colleague of mine was there last night, studying the presentations. Upon seeing Jason's project, he gave me a call."
Susan considered the explanation. It sounded reasonable, but there was something strange about how he said it. Moreover, the timing of this explanation bothered her. Shouldn't he have said this before already? Why bring it up now rather than then? "Why was he…or she there?"
The Professor folded his hands. "I run an institute for gifted young men and women, those that show excellence in their talents and intellect, and direct each student for bright and better futures. We live in a world where the talented and gifted are often forgotten in society, as young boys and girls feel pressured to conform to their peers when at school or anywhere else outside of their homes. While I understand their apprehension, their potential often sours as they fret under the judging eyes of their peers. Far too many young men and women live lives they shouldn't have to live, because they would not allow themselves to rise above their peers as their talents enable them to do. It's one of the greatest tragedies of our society."
Susan let the Professor's explanation digest in her head. It sounded like an odd goal, but she understood the Professor's concerns about young people. Peer pressure was a very real problem in schools. "How do you teach them?"
"Depending on their talents, we train and teach them how to properly use their respective gifts. We house them at the Institute, but they also attend a local high school within easy driving distance of the Institute. We arrange our curriculum to work with the school, so that upon graduation they will be ready to become who they were born to be. Some have even stayed on to teach others."
Susan continued to dwell on each explanation. This school was unlike anything she had ever heard of, but maybe private academies were the same way. They seemed to work well enough. "It seems wonderful, but…" Susan paused to find the right words. "…it sounds…I don't know how to describe it."
The Professor nodded understandingly. "I know what I'm sharing sounds unlike anything like you've ever heard, but I'm sure you understand the problem I seek to address. If I might assume anything, I believe you want your son Jason to succeed in what he is best in, correct?"
"Of course," Susan said.
"As do I; my goals coincide with most parents'. I merely teach to students what parents wish for their sons and daughters. So many of our young ones grow up with the mentality that they shouldn't have to rise up to discover themselves through their talents, but later in life find they wish they did, only to find their talents have died within them already. I believe it is our moral responsibility as adults to encourage our young ones to become the best at what they can be."
Susan felt herself relaxed in the light of the Professor's words; he made them sound like his personal catechism. Like the Professor had said already, it was one she could relate to; she hoped Jason would take full advantage of his knowledge in science and math. Whatever he would choose to use them for, she knew she would be proud of him. "It sounds like a wonderful idea, Professor…but what if your students don't agree with your curriculum?"
Professor Charles sighed slightly, as if talking about this was uncomfortable for him. "We don't force our students towards a particular path, and it has allowed a select few of our students to choose paths that I do not personally approve of. However, the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children doesn't force any agenda on any of our students. We are merely there to guide them down a path that can benefit both them and the people around them. What they choose to do is ultimately up to them."
Susan somehow figured that would be the case, but she felt more comfortable asking. All in all, it sounded wonderful as a private academy. "It sounds like a wonderful school…" Susan started. "…but this school…will Jason have to leave home to attend it?"
Professor Xavier leaned forward, and Susan saw a compassionate look in his eyes right away. "Yes. The Xavier Institute is in New York, on Long Island Sound. We accept students from all around the country and sometimes even beyond our borders. We don't turn down those of exceptional capability, no matter their origins. For more unfortunate or lesser fortunate families, I offer scholarships. There is no reason for us to turn away potential student for financial reasons."
Susan could barely believe that statement. She might have not known much about private academies, but she did know that all of them were expensive. "How can that be?"
The Professor smiled. "I was blessed with an inheritance from my family, and I have neither children nor benefactors to bestow it upon. I personally pay for each student's expenses with my own fortunes and investments, for our students are my investment and the world is the benefactor."
The Professor's poetry was not lost on Susan, and it sounded like it came from a movie. That in itself was disquieting, no matter how noble it was. "Excuse me for saying so, but that sounds almost too good to be true…"
The Professor leaned back. "I'm sure it does, but the truth often sounds stranger than fiction."
Susan did not look reassured.
The Professor continued. "Now, I need to be upfront about this: I understand that right now that Jason is in no condition to come, but I am merely extending the offer to you once he recovers. It must be a decision you all must make. If Jason is ready to come in August before the new school year, then we will be more than willing to take him in. If he must see specialists for anything, we have or can get access to the care he needs." The Professor took something out of his overcoat that looked like a brochure. "This brochure will tell you some more about the Institute as well as how to reach us."
Susan took the brochure and looked through it. "What a beautiful campus," she said as she admired the brochure. Her admiration was short-lived as she remembered what they had been talking about. "But I just can't send off my son off somewhere, especially now."
"And I fully understand that. We will never impose such a choice on anyone, circumstances regardless. As I have already stated, I'm merely inviting your son to become a part of something greater. I'm sure your son has already started considering colleges or universities, considering his performance at the Regionals."
Susan had to agree on that. Jason had already been exploring the possibility of attending Oklahoma State University in Engineering. He was also hoping that by summertime that he'd get a part-time job at a car shop to boost his knowledge in machinery. Jason was smart enough to start looking early, and even asked about taking the SAT before the fall. Perhaps this Institute would help his odds even more, plus there were several other facilities in New York that would be excellent choices for further education.
Again, her fears rose to the surface. The logical part of her mind was drowning in the flood of worry that surged through since last night. She couldn't consider sending Jason, even if Jason's education could soar. He was too hurt, and if the prognosis wasn't good, she couldn't send him off to deal with it alone. "Well, it sounds wonderful, Professor, but after all this, I don't think I can send my boy anywhere."
The Professor closed his eyes, as if telling himself to be patient. "If you're worried about medical issues in the future, I assure you, we not only have an excellent care staff, but New York also has one of the best neurological institutes in the country."
Susan frowned, and the Professor felt a rather hostile thought brush his mind. "Does this man have an answer for everything?" Aloud, Susan said. "Professor Xavier, with all due respect, but I right now don't care if you have the health care the Mayo Clinic dreams about. I can't send my boy there!"
The Professor was taken aback at her sudden outburst, but he couldn't blame her. Still, she was letting her fears conquer reason, and she didn't know what was at stake. "I did not mean to offend, Mrs. Downs. Just please consider what I'm offering."
Huffing, Susan stuffed the brochure curtly into her purse and stood up. "Good day, Professor," she said coldly, marching to the other side of the hall to the ICU, to see if her husband made any improvement.
The Professor merely set back, sighing. He was used to these kinds of reactions, but normally this kind of reaction happened after mentioning that the child was a mutant. The Professor had hoped to inform the mother of Jason's powers, and that they were awakening and growing; even worse that they were growing in a hospital with almost no chance of secrecy. The Professor knew he couldn't give up now, perseverant that he was. After all, recruiting Kitty Pride from her Illinois residence was certainly a challenge, to both him and Jean who had come along. He would just have to come up with another way to approach the Downs family, ideally before the day was over.
It then occurred to him that if he could establish a telepathic link with Jason, he may be able to find out more about the previous night. It was possible that Jason had been awake for a period between the tornado and the time he was found by the Udall family, however short it was. Bringing his fingers to his temple, his mind flew out and searched for Jason. He was aware of the amount of people walking up and down the hall, but none paid him mind, for which he was thankful. Distractions were bad enough, even without a telepathic probe drifting through the hospital.
One by one, his mind surged through the psychic plane, deftly passing through other minds and energies. Like an internet search engine, he was looking for even the smallest of mentions of a young man severely injured in a tornado. As the thoughts returned, he sorted them through by relevance. So far, everything was either gossip or news-related, nothing useful. In seconds, Charles found one mind of a nurse who was just outside the radiology lab, her mind thinking about a young man matching Jason's description and a certain incident regarding melted rubber. The Professor recalled his psychic probe and focused on this nurse's mind, and instantly got a hit. For a brief window of time, a young man after a CT-test had been left alone to prepare the next test. While alone, something happened and he started screaming. The Professor dove into the actual memories: she, among others, saw that polyurethane had melted around this patient's palms completely missing the fingers. To calm the patient, sedatives were ordered by a Dr. Sontagg. The rubber was eventually removed and the burns were treated while under sedation.
Professor Charles frowned. Sedatives and other psychoactive substances clouded his ability to reasonably probe a mind. Even something simple as an over-the-counter sleeping medication often muddied the thoughts, making some thoughts undecipherable, unless the Professor dug deeper. Diving into murky waters was hazardous in itself, and the Professor would never risk such a dive into a compromised mind; any wrong move could be disastrous. The Professor relasxed, his mind returning back to his physical senses. Based on this new information, the Professor would have to wait until later to try to locate Jason and extract any information about last night.
On a whim, the Professor searched for Dr. Sontagg's mind to find any medical information on Jason. Immediately, he got a hit. Dr. Sontagg was examining MRI results from Jason's latest test, and the Professor could feel the doctor's mind lacing with worry as he examined the results. Before he could get additional information, the Professor discovered memories about the polyurethane that they had removed from Jason's hands: the doctor had given Jason two stress balls to help alleviate some severe pain in his hands. The next thing Dr. Sontagg remembered was seeing the rubber melted over Jason's hands, mildly burning them. More importantly, the doctor thought he had seen some kind of energy discharge, something like green electricity.
The Professor withdrew as soon as he saw that memory. Green electricity, just like on the car that was bent backwards shown on the news. There it was; a clue, one small clue to what power lies within Jason. What kind of power would have that kind of signature? The Professor leaned back, his mind racing for possible explanations. Judging by the crude news footage of the vehicle, and the memories of the two melted stress balls, Jason's power seemed to be a powerful of superheating. The Professor closed his eyes; that cannot be right. He remembered that most polyurethane rubber is treated to resist melting, although it can melt but only at very high temperatures, temperatures that would have practically vaporized Jason's flesh in seconds. If he was capable of such a feat, his mutant adaptation would have been able to protect his flesh from that. There was no record of any mutant whose powers directly harmed the mutant. Jason's power was something else, something that could cause melting of substances or—
It hit him. Jason's power wasn't melting at all; it was changing shape, rearranging its matter at the molecular level, possibly even the atomic level. It was almost insane to think about it; but not completely unheard of. The Professor had been acquainted with one mutant, a metamorph of exceptional shape-shifting abilities, but that was limited to only her own body. Even so, she could rearrange her flesh to mimic even the most extravagant of clothing. Perhaps Jason's power was in fact metamorphism of matter, albeit with side-effects: that green energy. What was it exactly, and what role was it playing? Entropic, perhaps? Once he got back to the Institute, he and Dr. McCoy must look into this at once.
The Professor felt a familiar mind approaching: Dr. Sontagg's. Xavier looked up to see the doctor himself coming up to Susan Downs, possibly to share the results of the latest tests. Keeping still, he listened intently.
Dr. Sontagg spoke first. "Mrs. Downs?"
Susan Downs, still cooling down after the conversation she had with the Professor, jumped slightly. "Oh, sorry, Doctor. Is my son okay?"
The Professor could see a slight shift in Dr. Sontagg's stance; he might have noticed how flustered Susan was but was working to not bring attention to it. "We've done all the testing and we are moving Jason to a room outside the ICU. I'll take you there now."
Susan tensed more. "Is my son all right?"
Dr. Sontagg dodged the question. "I'd rather discuss that with both you and Jason. Come, I will take you to his room."
Even the Professor felt a chilling foreboding from the doctor, and that was enough for the Professor to know that something was dearly wrong, and time was now of the essence. Returning one finger on his head, he telepathically paged, "Jean, has Storm returned with the photographs yet?"
Jean's thoughts were quick to reach him. "She has just arrived and we have looked over them. Professor, you must see these."
"Bring them to me. I'm at the ICU. I fear Jason is in trouble. We must act quickly, or he may become unreachable."
"I'm on the way, Professor."
The Professor relaxed, allowing his gaze to follow after Susan Downs and Dr. Sontagg. He took one last glimpse into the doctor's mind and found Jason's room number: 252. If they timed this right, they could come into the room after Susan would inevitably leave to check on Patrick back down in the ICU.
As he waited for Jean, he failed to notice that a nurse from down the hall had been keeping her eye on him…a venom-yellow eye.
XXXXXXXXXX
Jason's fingers felt through the gauze that now wrapped around both of his hands, and it itched horribly. After the burns were treated, the nurses had wrapped both Jason's hands up while he was still under sedation. Nothing happened during the EEG, but the urge to panic was persistent, and what puzzled him was that he didn't know why. Nearby lay the two casts of rubber, after being cut from his hands—the nursing staff wasn't sure what to do with them. Every time he looked at them, his depression grew. The world was shattering all around him and he was helpless to stop it, and all it took was one horrible night.
As a swirl of thoughts swayed their deadly dance in his head, he was becoming increasingly aware of the heart monitor with its ever incessant beeps. He looked away as the beeping continued unabated, each one seemingly louder than the other. There was the sound of the air conditioner blowing through the vents as well. The cool air was welcome, but the dull rushing of the air was loud. A fly streaked through the air in front of him, and he could even hear its buzzing wings. Then came the thumps of his own heart, dancing in tune with the beeps of the monitor. He had to shut his eyes. The world was too noisy for him, and peace was elusive despite the monotony of the din. He sighed; was there no end?
"Jason?"
The din died as Jason's eyes shot open. He didn't dare to move as he listened for what shattered the monotony from which he was suffering. "Hello?" he dared to say quietly.
"Jason?"
Jason's sat up, his eyes shooting around wildly. "Who's there?" Jason asked, but this time silence was his answer. Soon, the dull thumping of his heart bled back into his ears. He rubbed his chest without meaning to. Was it pumping that hard or was he just hearing it overmuch? He looked at the heart monitor. Blood pressure looked normal enough, and while his heart-rate went up a bit, it was still normal.
His eyes shot open when he realized that he wasn't hearing the beeping of the monitor. He could see the graphs working and the numbers translating the results, but there wasn't a single sound. He slowly reached out for the device and tapped it once or twice, very carefully as if trying to check if it was asleep. He then tapped harder, and then finally rapped it with the knuckles of his finger. He felt like the rap echoed through his own body in finality, but there was still no beep. "What the fuck?" he barely whispered.
"Jason?"
Jason looked around wildly. "Who is that? Who are you?!"
"Don't be afraid."
The direct answer jarred Jason to his bones, and his heart began to race. "Stop it," Jason panted.
"Stay calm!" Another voice, higher and softer, joined in. "We aren't here to hurt you…"
"Stop it!" Jason cried out. "Stop playing around and show yourself!"
"Calm yourself, Jason. You'll hurt yourself!"
Jason was about to answer again, but something about the voice bounced off of him in a different way. The voices were too clear and too close. He was alone here, and if someone was behind the curtain or outside the hall, they would sound different. It was then Jason realized that the voices were in his head. Jason clawed frenziedly at his head. "Shut up! Shut up!"
"Jason, please! Calm down!"
"Do as she says, Jason. You're still hurt from the tornado—"
Jason's eyes flashed open, but what he saw wasn't the room, but a highway, and there was a churning cloud coming to devour him. Jason could only stare as his fingers burned and his blood froze as the cloud descended upon him. Tears streaming from his eyes, he cried out as he clasped his hands against his head, "GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" He felt a rush from deep within him boil over and he threw down his hands. Green bolts of lightning banished the nightmare from his eyes, and Jason returned to the hospital room. Jason stared gasping, unsure of what he just felt and what had just happened. All he could do was just stare and gasp.
Beep! Jason jumped as the heart monitor told him about the condition of his heart. He looked at ir wildly, and he felt a warm wash of nausea hit his head. Grasping the bedrail for support, he fought it off and dared to open his eyes again. He saw his heart was slowing down and his blood pressure was dropping, but back to safe levels, and the heart monitor chirped along as if nothing had happened.
Something new came to his attention: a strange smell, something a little musty…like something was burning. At once he looked at his blanket, and then swore; somehow, his blanket gathered itself up onto its lap into a pile, fused together at parts as if someone melted them together. The occasional stray bolt of energy only amplified Jason's confusion and fear. "What's going on here? What's happening to me? What the hell did I just do?" he asked, each question coming from deeper within and bursting out louder than the next.
One hand flew to his head, and he accidentally slapped himself on the injured side of his face. Pain lanced across his face as if he had torn his own face off. He laid back down as he rubbed his head as fresh tears streamed forth. As he lay there silently crying, he couldn't help but ask the unanswerable questions. His eyes slowly fell to the mess of a blanket on his lap, and even through the pain and fatigue in his mind, a horrifying thought shot to the surface: what if Mom came in and saw it? Pain and fatigue forgotten, he stared at the mess on his chest as his mind raced. What if she saw it and pegged him as a freak? What would she think? What would she do? Hastily, he picked it up and tossed it over the side, landing near the wall and partially hidden by the divider. Now away from sight, he laid back and tried to get it out of mind.
Just then, a nurse came running in. "What's wrong? I heard you scream!"
Jason nearly jumped out of his gown when he heard the nurse speak. Calming himself, he answered as his mind returned to the lump in the divider. "It's…it was nothing. I…fell asleep and had a bad dream, I think…" Jason lied. The nurse didn't reply, and only looked at him as if she knew that something else was up. Jason instinctively looked away. "I don't want to talk about it!" he shouted defensively.
The nurse didn't look convinced, but decided not to press the issue. "All right, but please, try to rest."
Jason didn't move, but his empty stomach compelled him to speak. "Any chance I'll have something to eat soon?"
The nurse's skeptical look quickly turned compassionate. "The doctor must approve it. There may be a chance you may undergo another surgery, and we cannot have you eat before then."
"For what?" Jason asked irritably.
"I don't know…"
Jason huffed. "Figures."
"The doctor will be in as soon as he can, but for now, try to rest." With that, the nurse left.
"Easy for you to say…" Jason mumbled, even though the nurse was out of earshot. His gaze shot through the nearby window, staring sourly at the peaceful weather outside. All he could do now is brood, and brood he did. It was bad enough that he and his father both were nearly killed by a tornado, but now he was plagued by voices in his head and some freaky curse that could melt rubber and blankets apparently. Was he some kind of freak, or was he losing it?
Time was meaningless to a brooding teenager; he had no idea how long he stared at the window, lost in his own thoughts and frustrations. He was so wrapped up in himself that he didn't notice a quiet knock at his door. When his name was called, however, he nearly jumped out of his bed. Several things happened at once: Jason snapped to see the intruder, Dr. Sontagg and Jason's mother, Susan, nearly jumped themselves seeing Jason's surprised look, and Jason collapsed back into his bed after the sudden move aggravated his injured face.
Seeing Jason collapse down in terrible pain, Dr. Sontagg and Susan Downs quickly entered the room, the latter immediately came beside Jason. "Are you all right, Jason?"
Dr. Sontagg added. "Please, Jason, you must move slowly. Any brisk movement like that could re-open your wound."
Jason pursed his lips, hissing. "I know that now…and I think that's the least of my concerns."
Patiently, Dr. Sontagg answered, "Nevertheless, you must take things slowly for a while. We removed the brace you were in because no spinal injury was found; however, we will put it back on if you're not more careful with your head, am I clear?"
Jason grimaced at the thought of another minute in the stiff and itchy neck-brace. "Sorry…"
Dr. Sontagg relaxed. "How do you feel, son? Do you still feel that zapping sensation in your fingers?"
Jason stiffened. He remembered that Dr. Sontagg had not only seen what happened to the stress balls in Jason's hands, but gave them to him himself. Could the doctor have found out about his new problem?
Dr. Sontagg noted the delay. "Jason?"
Jason seemed to snap awake. "Oh-uh-sorry…" Trying to calm down, Jason did the first thing he could think of: answer only the questions and nothing else, and don't ask questions. Jason peered down to his bound hands. "Yeah…" Dr. Sontagg didn't look surprised, and Jason felt his heart race. Jason silently cursed the heart monitor for its betrayal of his anxiety.
The doctor asked on, "What about lightheadedness? Nausea? Headaches?"
"Well, yeah, a little bit, I guess." Jason looked like the doctor just asked if the sun was in the sky, and he couldn't help himself. "Ok, what's going on here?"
Dr. Sontagg crossed his arms. "A little bit?"
Jason grew aggravated. "Wha—? What's going on?"
Susan interrupted. "Jason, please answer the question."
Jason regarded his adoptive mother for a short second, and calmed down. Rubbing his eyes, he continued more quietly. "I-I'm sorry. I guessed I'm a little freaked out right now."
Dr. Sontagg didn't look offended. "It's all right. The questions I'm answering are vital to future treatment, so please be honest."
Jason looked at his mother, looking in her eyes to find any clue that might let on that his mother knew something he did not, but even she looked bothered. Looking back at the doctor, he finally answered, "Not really nauseous, but I do have a nasty headache."
"How bad?"
Jason couldn't help it; he chuckled grimly. "Like I got attacked with a baseball bat."
Dr. Sontagg didn't reply at first, but the ugly way his mouth twisted in thought roused Jason's suspicions. Susan, however, beat him to the question they both had on their minds. "Please, doctor, what's wrong with my son?"
The doctor sighed, rubbing his eyes und his glasses. "Jason is showing signs of severe intracranial trauma from last night…" The doctor paused to see if Jason would react to that memory. While Jason looked disturbed, he didn't show any signs of sinking into another attack. Satisfied, he continued, "…and judging from the CT scans and EEG readings, it's significant." Dr. Sontagg pulled out the CT graphs of Jason's brain. Using a pen, he pointed out the areas of interest, highlighted in gadolinium-white. "Right here, we have significant pressure buildup from intracranial swelling, obviously caused by the blunt-force trauma." His expression turned grim. "However, there's more. See these white dots? These are a number of hematomas intermingling with the meninges, the grey matter of the brain. Judging by the degree of buildup within the past twelve hours, I'm afraid some are subdural hematomas."
Jason felt something solidify in his stomach. "What does that mean?"
"A subdural hematoma is a cerebral hemorrhage: a bleed inside the brain. Subdural ones are among the more dangerous hemorrhages that can occur. Unabated, the bleeds will continue to grow and add even more pressure to your already-injured brain. We must go in and drain the blood from inside your skull immediately, or the increased pressure will kill you in a matter of hours."
Susan paled, while Jason merely stared. He was that close to dying? His racing heary made his headache worse, and probably wasn't helping his prognosis any. "What are my odds?"
Susan rounded on Jason, tearfully shouting. "Don't you even say that, young man!"
Jason, taken aback by his mother's reaction, looked back at his mother. "Mom, I'm not giving up. I just want to know what I'm up against." Jason then looked at Dr. Sontagg, asking his question again silently.
"Without surgery? Sixty percent or more, so that's not an option. If we start within the hour, your chances dramatically go down, but I'd say it lingers to between fifteen and twenty percent."
"One-in-five at worst," Jason said automatically. "I wish it was better, but I don't have a choice." Despite the affirmation, his mother still looked worried sick. Jason took his mother's hand into his own wrapped one. "Mom, it's okay."
"I know," Susan said, tearfully. "Please, just do your best, Doctor."
"Always," Dr. Sontagg replied firmly but compassionately, but then his expression darkened still. "That's not all, however."
Now Jason paled. "What do you mean?"
Dr. Sontagg looked serious at Jason. "While the hemorrhages explain your headaches and lightheadedness, hematomas rarely cause neuropathies as significant like the ones in your hands. We think that the hematomas could also be doing something else besides pressure build-up."
Jason and Susan looked at each other again. The fact that Jason had a sixty percent chance to die from the bleeds was bad enough. What else was going on? Jason swallowed, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. "What?"
"Increased pressure is the direct danger caused by hematomas, but I'm sure you know that your blood contains lymphatic cells in addition to your red blood cells. These lymphatic cells will try to destroy damaged cells as part of their programmed immune response. Since nerve damage is certain in your case, your cells will try to destroy those. Your neuropathies would get progressively worse.
"Progressive?" Jason asked, his heart starting to race. "How?"
"Around the brain, there is a blood-brain barrier that keeps lymphatic cells outside the brain, unless there is an infection within the brain and only then. However, in some cases like a hemorrhage, this barrier is breached, which causes T-lymphocytes to invade the brain, and they start attacking the individual neurons, particularly the fatty tissue around the cell which contains myelin. Myelin is considered foreign to T-lymphocytes and it will strip the myelin sheaths from the neurons. When this tissue is stripped away, pain and neuropathies occur and lesions appear in the affected areas. The result is a degenerative condition known as multiple sclerosis."
The silence was deafening at the doctor's tidings. Jason was so stunned that it felt like time froze itself. Finally, his mind caught up with him. "Me? Multiple sclerosis? I-I…b-but I thought multiple sclerosis was a disease, caused by something else, not an injury."
Dr. Sontagg's expression softened with pity. "Typically, yes. People that get multiple sclerosis most often get it through an infection that weakens the walls of the blood-brain barrier. However, multiple sclerosis is just one disease of a group of sclerotic diseases and disorders. There are some select versions that are caused by a hemorrhage, particularly small ones that are too small to find in the CT, which almost never get detected by scans as they are so small. Yet, they leak a small amount of blood and whatever is in the blood. In your case, with your brain already injured and having the amount of bleeds that you have, your odds magnify greatly.
"In this case, it's called Charcot's Syndrome, one of many multiple sclerotic diseases or disorders. Beginning symptoms often include mood swings, headaches, fatigue, spasms and pain in the muscles and shocking sensations in the extremities. Eventually, the disorder becomes an autoimmune disease as the effects strengthen and spread. Eventually, we may see seizures, chronic depression or bipolar disorder, loss of motor control or paralysis, and shocking pain throughout the body."
"You mean…it's going to hurt…a lot?" Jason asked. He heard himself say it, but he still couldn't believe it.
Dr. Sontagg sighed. "Yes. As I said, stripping the myelin sheaths can cause severe pain. This is compared to stripping the insulation of a power cord, which increases the likelihood of a short circuit. In response, the exposed cellular tissue is ultra-sensitive, and it causes pain."
Susan stifled a sob there and then, while Jason remained silent.
"As Charcot's Syndrome continues to progress, we will see incontinence, difficulty swallowing, and paraplegia or quadriplegia: paralysis of the legs or more in the case of quadriplegia. The average life-span of someone diagnosed with Charcot's Syndrome is cut by 10-20 years, which means barring any death by complications, Jason may live into his 60s."
Jason blinked, and could only say weakly, "So…I'm already a third of the way through my life."
"You could live even longer with proper treatment. All we can do currently is drain the brain of the blood and excess fluid that is the immediate danger. During the surgery, we will place a shunt in your brain to drain more of the blood out before more damage occurs…but we likely won't catch all of it. We will need to continue monitoring your neuropathies to see if they get worse or fade, or if new ones appear. After you leave the hospital, we will get you in touch with a specialist that handles these kinds of problems, as well as keep you in touch with various programs that might make this easier. Charcot's Syndrome is a remitting-relapsing disorder; between attacks, Jason will have a remission of undeterminable time where nothing seems wrong."
Dr. Sontagg remained silent for a time. "I want to make this perfectly clear: I'm only telling the worst-case scenario. There's still a chance that Jason may never develop Charcot's Syndrome. Realistically though, with Jason's current neuropathies, it may have already begun. If it is something else that is causing it, odds are that it will be very treatable, and I will be very happy to be proven wrong,"
Dr. Sontagg placed the CT-readouts back into their folder. "I'm scheduling the surgery one hour from now. Until then, you need to take your rest, Jason, and be very calm. You won't be able to eat anything before the surgery, I'm sad to say, but we can provide water if you are thirsty. I wish we could do more. The nurses will be by to take you to surgery. Please rest." The doctor took the folder and left the room.
Jason was completely silent. Nothing in the world prepared him for this, but what would? In just five minutes, he went from brooding boredom to shell-shocked emptiness. Even if he made it through surgery, odds were he would still live only to die a painful death. It just wasn't fair.
His mother couldn't stand it; how could she? Jason heard her crying without really listening. As his mind withdrew itself deeply inside his broken skull, it flashed to that fateful night again, and one again Jason saw the face of his father again trying to get him out of the car. This time, it didn't scare him. All he could do was stare at himself fighting to stay alive. Jason couldn't help but see the cruel joke of it; he saw himself fighting to live, and he was going to die anyway. It was all a stupid joke.
For one quick moment, he wished the tornado had killed him in the car, but it didn't help. All that would have done was making his end painless; even that wasn't certain. Even if that did happen, there would still be sorrow. He said he would fight this, but how can you fight something like that when your own body was fighting itself and losing?
His gaze slowly drifted out the window and to the sky again. He wanted someone to save him from this fate, but there was nobody to save him from this. In his mind, he was doomed to die. What about his father? Would his father die as well and leave his mother and sister all alone?
The tears came easy after that.