Chapter 6

The next morning John felt refreshed, and was allowed to take some exercise. He and Gordon took a swim while Virgil and Scott sat reading in deckchairs.

"How are you feeling, John?" asked Gordon.

"Fine," he replied.

"Well, I'm going to do some lengths."

"I'll join you."

"Okay."

John and Gordon began to swim up and down the pool. Normally, Gordon was much faster than any of his brothers, but he slowed his pace to keep an eye on John. He noticed that John was swimming faster, and so speeded up. He kept doing so until he was almost flat out, but still John was a little faster.

"I must be really out of condition!" said Gordon to himself. After fifty lengths he was beginning to feel tired, and could not exhaust himself in case there was a rescue call. He hauled himself onto the side, and sat on the edge with his feet dangling in the water. He watched John carefully, timing him in his head. Gordon was shocked; according to his timing, John was swimming faster than Gordon ever had. He took hold of Scott's arm, behind him.

"Hey!" said Scott. "What are you doing?"

"I just need to use your watch."

Gordon timed John again, and his suspicion was confirmed.

"Look at that!" said Gordon to Scott. "He's swimming Olympic standard. How is that possible?"

"I don't know!" said Scott.

Virgil was looking at John, open-mouthed. "Look!" he said, and pointed. "He's only coming up for air every five minutes!"

"How is that possible?" said Gordon.

"It isn't!" said Scott.

"Shit!" said Virgil. "I'll get Brains."

Brains stood at the edge of the water, calling to John. Eventually, he responded.

"John, can I talk to you, please?"
"What do you want?"

"Can you come back to the sickroom, please?"

"Erm, no!" said John, and carried on swimming. After swimming one mile, his paced had not slowed.

"Please, John!" said Brains.

"Piss off!" shouted John.

"I'll get Dad!" said Virgil, and ran into the house. He returned presently, with Jeff in tow.

"Get out of the pool please, John."

"No!" he replied.

"Please, John."

"No!"

Jeff nodded to Scott. "Drain it!" he shouted.

Scott ran toward the house.

"All right! Jesus! I'm coming out!" said John, angrily.

He jumped out of the deep water in a single thrust. John could never normally do this; he always had to use the ladder. He was normally slender and lithe. Now his muscles rippled as he flexed them. Scott was now standing next to Jeff, and when John came to stand, dripping, in front of them, Scott was taking no chances. He took hold of one of John's arms.

"Let go," said John, quietly but almost viciously, like a warning snarl from a dog guarding his master.

"Take it easy, John. Let's just go back into the house," said Scott.

"Let go, or you will sorely regret it!" his teeth ground together as he spoke.

"John-" said Jeff. He was desperately upset. John had never exhibited this kind of behaviour before. But he cut himself off. "Are you taller?" he said as he sidled closer to John. He was sure that John was a little shorter than him. Now they stood eye to eye, and John was shoeless. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Let go, Scott!" Scott looked at his father but did not relinquish his grip. But in one, smooth, calculated movement, John jerked up his arm, lifting Scott clear off his feet, and then spun around. At the same time John took a firm grip of Scott's forearm, and threw him down. Scott cried out in pain.

John was now set upon from all sides. Virgil, Jeff and Gordon launched themselves at him, and they rolled around for several minutes in a strange human ball, with arms and legs flying out from all angles. At first, Virgil could not bring himself to hit his own brother, but a well-designed punch to the eye, administered by John, soon changed his mind. Ultimately, John did not win, and was dragged, hunched over like a crab, into the house.

John was extremely aggressive, just lashing out at people and brickwork alike, with almost no regard for his own safety. He was a man deranged, although he still seemed to understand where he was, and the identities of his captors, and he spouted language filthy enough to turn the air blue. Realising that they could not hold him for much longer, they deposited him bodily on the bed in the sickroom, and held him there while Brains tied him down with hard restraints.

Once he was securely fastened, the men stood back.

"I've never seen anything like that before in my life!" exclaimed Virgil.

"I have," said Jeff. "Cocaine."

"There were no drugs in his system, Mr. Tracy," said Brains.

"So what's wrong with him?" asked Jeff.

"There's nothing wrong with me! Let me go! I'll kill you all!" ranted John.

"You're sick, John!" said Jeff, almost at the point of tears.

"Brains said there was nothing wrong with me! He said I didn't have to stay in here!" cried John. He was pulling so hard at his restraints that they were bruising his arms. But the bruises kept disappearing, leaving behind ripples and bumps, like the skin of a plucked chicken, which eventually faded too. Brains watched the process, almost mesmerised.

"How did you hear that?" asked Jeff, surprised. "We were outside the room!"

John stopped struggling for a minute, like a child who briefly pauses from his tantrum because he has forgotten what he is crying about.

"Let me go!" he shouted irately.

"Okay, what's wrong with him?" asked Jeff, again. "If it isn't drugs, it isn't a virus, whatever, what is it?"

Scott appeared at the door, clutching his arm. "He's going to hell in a handbasket!"

"Scott?"

"I'm pretty sure he broke my arm, Father. He was so strong. That wasn't John. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't John."

"Brains, can you tend to Scott's arm?"

"Yes, Mr. Tracy." Brains took Scott to his lab to scan his arm. It was broken, but not severely, so Brains plastered it from hand to elbow, and furnished him with a sling.

"What are we going to do about him, Brains?"

Brains sighed, and wiped his glasses on his shirt. His eyes were red and puffy, and he rubbed at them, making them redder. Scott placed his good, right hand on Brains' shoulder. It was sometimes hard to remember that this shy genius was younger than him. Brains felt a particular affinity with John over the other Tracy boys. Like himself, John was quiet and reserved. Neither of them had much time for sports, and could melt a night away talking about astronomy or cosmology. Not normally one for such affections, now Brains turned to hug Scott.

"Thank you, Scott," he blubbed.

"Any time, Brains. Any time," replied Scott. When Brains had regained his composure, Scott let go of him. "Are you coming back upstairs?"

"No, Scott. I'll stay here and think of some other test to try," faltered Brains.

Scott nodded. "Give me a shout if you need anything." He went back to the sickroom.

"How's your arm, Scott?" asked Jeff when he went in.

"It'll be okay," he replied, and tried to hold it up to show his plaster cast, but it was too tender. "How's Lennox Lewis?" Scott looked over and answered his own question. John was now secured with two restraints on each limb, and he was breathing in and out through his nose, hard, and glaring at each person in the room in turn.

"Secure. Tin-Tin tried to give him some haldol but the needle won't pierce his skin again," said Virgil.

"It's getting late. What are we going to do?" asked Gordon.
Jeff sighed. "I guess we'll have to take shifts staying in here. I'll take the first one. Anything happens, anything at all, you push the panic bar," he said. "Everyone else, get some sleep. This is going to be tough for a few days. But I know I can depend on you all."

The Tracy boys beamed with pride, and did as they were told. Jeff laid on his side on a bed facing John, and contemplated what to do about his son.