HOT...why is it so hot? That was all I could think of at the time. People often underestimate how complex children's thoughts can be, but in that moment, that feeling was as complex as it got. I was ten years old at the time and on that day I'd gone to bed like it was any other day. Sure, I had fought my parents about brushing my teeth and would do everything I could delay going to sleep, but inevitably, I ended up in bed with childhood dog Corky at my side and trusty sidekick Jeff the plush Giraffe.
There was nothing to indicate that it would be anything other than a normal night, and I remember snuggling into bed with Corky curled up next to me. As a kid, I was always dreaming of being the one to save the day as a superhero or a fantasy hero, so that night I did what I often did and pulled out the latest issue of the Captain Flag comic to read to Jeff the Giraffe. Sadly my time with the good Captain only lasted a few minutes before Mom came to check on me and made me go lights out.
My last concrete memory was of snuggling into the blankets before a feeling of being drained came over me followed by suddenly feeling hot. My Mom told me later that she had checked on me fifteen minutes after I had gone to bed and found me asleep. About an hour later, it happened. Everything from here on out was relayed to me by my family or doctors as I didn’t regain consciousness until three weeks later.
According to my parents, they started to hear a hum coming from my bedroom that increased rapidly in intensity before ending in a deep thrum followed by an intense burst of light. My dad likened it to something going into overload, and he may have been right. Mom and Dad rushed up the stairs to my room only to find that the room looked like it had been flash-burned. The covers were blown off me, my lamp was knocked off the bedside table, my comic was thrown across the room and was blackened at the edges, and toys and nicknacks were scattered all over. Strangely nothing was really burnt but there were clear signs of some kind of heat discharge.
As for poor Corky, she was found near the foot of my bed, a slightly singed and flash-blind whimpering mess. Even as shell-shocked as she was, my Dad claimed she was trying to protect me when my parents got to my room. The poor thing was probably just reacting on instinct and she must have either jumped or gotten knocked off the bed so her fur and skin only took a little damage. The vet said she had what looked like a sunburn under her fur! Sadly her eyesight would never completely recover and it took a day before she started reacting to any visual stimulation. While she wasn’t blind, you could tell she just couldn’t track things like she used to before my incident. I will always feel guilty for what happened to her. For the rest of her life, I always told her she was my hero and personal super-dog.
So yeah, as Dad was dealing with our blind sunburned dog, Mom was checking on me. My clothes were slightly blackened in spots, but they were in better condition than the rest of the room, almost like how the eye of a hurricane is peaceful while the storm rages around it. The biggest issue of course was that I was unresponsive at that point. Mom at that point began what my Dad later termed a “Freakout of instructions” which had him running from checking on my brother (who slept through the whole thing), to calling for an ambulance, to getting the dog out of the room and downstairs.
After a somewhat heated “discussion” about moving me, my Dad won the argument on the grounds of not staying in a room that looked like a grenade went off. He carried me down the stairs to the living room and placed me on the couch while Mom got my brother Evan. I can’t imagine what my parents went through waiting for the ambulance to arrive not knowing what had happened and why their daughter was unresponsive in a blown-out bedroom. I know it’s still painful for them to talk about even years later because they rarely talk about that night. I might get the odd joke referencing it thrown my way, but it’s rare for them to bring it up seriously. Hell, even my brother who generally won’t ever pass on an opportunity to make fun of me won’t reference it.
My Dad told me years later when I asked about that night that one of the hardest parts of was the drive to the hospital with my younger brother. Evan who at six was old enough to understand something bad had happened to his sister, but was still young enough to not fully process the gravity of the situation kept alternately crying, “What’s wrong with Dani?” and “I want chocolate milk!” All the while Dad was driving like mad to keep up with the ambulance that was rushing Mom and me to the Hospital.
My Dad is a little old school, got a job out of high school with the local auto factory, and just worked his ass off to claw as much success as he could. At first for himself, and then for his family. He never took a day off, almost always worked overtime, and proved himself to be invaluable to the company. He is the type who hides his emotions with jokes and sarcasm so I can’t imagine what he must have been like that night. By the time he made it to the hospital, I can imagine his stress level was probably off the chart just dealing with Evan and Mom so nothing of his daughter being just a little comatose. Unfortunately getting to the hospital wasn’t going to improve his anxiety much.
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Now Mom, on the other hand, was NOT interested in stoicism riding in the back of the ambulance with the paramedics who were probably quite confused at the unresponsive slightly singed little blond girl. Especially considering I was told I came in with normal vitals and just a slightly elevated body temperature. I’m sure the fifteen minutes or so it took to get to the hospital felt like an eternity for poor Mom and the paramedics who were alternately working through cycles of her breaking down and or yelling at them to do something. I of course feel awful that she had to go through that, but it’s not like I had a choice in the matter.
Regardless Dad and Evan made it to the hospital just behind Mom and the ambulance where I was rushed into the emergency room and ultimately up to the pediatric intensive care unit (PICU) due to the whole unconscious thing. The doctors were concerned that I didn’t display any outward trauma but was still unresponsive. My body temperature continued to run high but never went to a place of true concern based on the data they were getting back from their tests. That didn’t stop them from running battery after battery of tests trying to figure out why I wouldn’t wake up while Mom and Dad spent more time than they would have liked talking to the police and Fire Chief about what happened.
Eventually, the Police and Fire Department stopped trying to find something to blame the family for and went with the tried and true “faulty wiring” on the official report. Everyone who knew anything about fire and explosions knew damn well that wasn’t true, but at the end of the day, there were more important things going on in the world than the mystery of the little Walker girl. Especially since my parent’s behavior and reaction didn’t match the profile of parents who were trying to harm their child.
At this point, the family settled into a routine of Mom or Dad taking my brother to school and then one of them going to the hospital to stay with me and talk to the doctors and specialists. On weekends they would spend family time in my room or entertain concerned friends and family who came to visit.
According to my parents, the maddening thing was the lack of any real progress in my condition at the time. Nobody seemed to have any answers. I was just kind of “shut off” for lack of a better term and I know they were starting to have conversations about my long-term care and what that would mean. The good news was that they wouldn't have to worry about it, the bad news was that I was about to wake up and can be a bit of a drama llama.
On day fifteen “I doth rise like a phoenix to burn the sky with my righteous fury!”...at least that’s how I like to tell it. The reality is a little more scattered as you have to remember this was all secondhand to me until I woke up, and even when that happened, let's just say I wasn’t on top of my game. Also...you know...ten.
At approximately 1:07 pm Eastern Time, an energy signature lit up NASA’s Total and Spectral Solar Irradiance Sensor like a Christmas Tree which is one of the sensors NASA uses to monitor the Sun's incoming energy. Also at that exact time in Michigan City, Michigan, a private room on the third floor of Riverside Hospital exploded. Thankfully there wasn’t anyone in the room but myself, which was either just blind dumb luck or a clue that a higher power was at play. What I do know is that the windows were blown out and there was again a strange pattern to the damage. There was more damage to the area around the bed beginning in about a 10-inch radius from my body than the bed itself. Things were thrown everywhere with quite a few items having some singe marks on them, but fortunately, the oxygen tank in the room never ruptured. I can’t imagine how much worse it could have been had that happened. The door to the room was also cracked off its hinges so if my first time was a hiccup, this was a burp.
My Dad happened to be down the hall at the nurse’s station talking to one of the day shift nurses at the time of the explosion, and thankfully not in the room. He told me that just about everyone on the floor got knocked off their feet when I went off which must have been terrifying (As I’m sure you’ve noticed I carry a lot of guilt for the unintentional harm I’ve caused). Once he was able to get his bearings he said he just knew it was my room and ran to me. When he finally got to my room and forced the door open with the help of the hospital staff, there I was, floating a foot off the bed and radiating an aura of light and heat. I’d blown the room up with what turned out to be the full awakening of my Supernormal Abilities which came with a concussive blast appetizer that I’m pretty sure nobody ordered off the menu.
I only sort of remember this next part, but I again had the feeling of being hot. As well as feeling full. It’s hard to describe as it wasn’t like when you eat too much, but just like when you have too much energy and you’re all skittery and need to burn it off. That’s the best way I can describe it. Whatever it was, I was full and had to release it and in doing so I sort of exploded a bit. There was a vague awareness that I’d just done something and that I no longer felt like bursting but I think I also instinctively knew that I had changed at that moment.
Like I said this is all very vague for me as the lights may have come on but I definitely wasn’t home yet. I know I’m repeating myself when I say I carry around a lot of guilt for the damage and pain I caused, even if it was unintentional, but if I’m honest with myself, I'm kind of glad that I wasn't awake for any of it. I think it would have been too much process...but...that ended up on my parents so the circle of guilt continues. Thankfully my parents were able to do that heavy lifting in the early days even though I know it had to have taken a toll on them.
My Dad, bless him, despite having to process the inconceivable, ran to my bed dodging debris, and started screaming at me to wake up. I don’t know if it was that the process had run its course but I just vaguely remember opening my eyes and looking down at my poor distressed Dad and saying, “Daddy...I feel funny.” At which point I dropped into his arms and passed out again. I was whisked away to another isolated room and this is the point where there would be no going back to a normal life. At least not for me, and unfortunately not for my family. One thing that I didn’t learn for years was that evidently, I was also glowing.
As I’m sure you can guess this next part is where all the scientists and military types come in, and you would be correct, but that’s a story for another time. We’ve got my first adventure to get to