She’d expected to wake to some aches and pain. The pain was there, cuts, bruises and scrapes still pulsing with dull protest. The ache of tiredness, of overworked or pulled muscles wasn’t there. Taylor felt fine. Wide awake.
And her ribs didn’t hurt at all anymore. Nor did several bandaged areas. She carefully peeled them back in the bathroom to find the wounds gone. Not many, not a lot, but between her ribs and this, it was clear she had some kind of super healing. Rather than accelerated recovery, it was as if the injuries had simply been wiped away. So she removed the excess bandages and hoped none of them disappeared during the examination.
Taylor didn’t have a lot of time before they had to go. She could already hear Danny moving around in their room. And she did not want to deal with that. Wasn’t at all sure how to even start. So she made breakfast to speed this all along, packed up and planned to wait in the truck.
***
Her plan mostly worked out. With two exception. When she picked up the kitchen knife, her hand was holding it wrong, but it felt right. And it was right, for stabbing people, not cutting smoked ham.
“This is going to take some getting used to.”
A quick look around the house told her a poker in the fireplace and Danny’s safety baseball bat were viable weapons. As were several knives and a cleaver.
Taylor wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Having new instincts, or maybe training, just show up was somewhat unnerving. And in practice, what was she going to do? Stab someone? That didn’t seem very heroic.
The second were the books. Not all, but some. Danny had cleared out her Mom’s things, but a house is large and the living room had a couple of bookshelves. Impossible not to with an English professor living in it. Some of those books were now catching her attention, and not in the painful memories way. There was that, yes. But also the titles and their stories almost felt familiar.
If her powers brought her closer to even the memory of her Mom? Taylor would be just fine with that.
***
Breakfast and the ride over had been filled with an icy silence. Icy on her part, Danny was going for disappointed, but he didn’t get a vote right now.
“So what if half a dozen girls all told him she’d locked herself in? None of themaaaahhhh!”
At least they were finally here. Brockton Bay General wasn’t the closest hospital, or the best. It was the one their insurance would cover. Taylor had been coming here since she was little.
She was still fuming at the stupid, judgmental silence. Even with an appointment, the hall was crowded. They’d have to wait a while. Danny just slumped into a chair and all but pulled her into another.
As soon as he let go Taylor was up and away. She didn’t look back.
Taylor walked away. What Danny wanted wasn’t her concern. Not today. She’d try to deal with that mess later. Maybe her father would come to his senses.
“Maybe he starts drinking again” She viciously thought.
Taylor walked down the hall ignoring the swearing come from the nurse in the copy room. There was a slight tug from the Card towards it, but in her agitated state she missed it.
No, she had powers now, and that was something good, something she could focus on. As she walked down the semi-crowded halls of the hospital, there was a hum in the back of her head. It was like a summer song, light and warm and almost absently she removed her jacket and opened her hoody. She felt a bit exposed, but with the hoody zipper open, the budge of the bandages around her stomach were visible, and she’d somehow gotten a few drops of blood on her shirt.
The song in her head rose, the summer tunes undercut by a low tone that spoke of dread, and cut off at unexpected moments. Taylor slouched, keeping her eyes down and ears open. She was just another injured girl in a crowd of wounded.
***
She learned a lot. For one, Taylor learned that she was terrible at this. Walking by someone is not a great way to overhear a conversation. So she tried lingering in places, only to be pestered by passing nurses on if she was alone here, and where were her parents. While she did find some people that looked criminal or like the meaner, older versions of the gang kids in Winslow, they had watchers that watched other watchers like hawks.
So much so, that one of the Nazi ones noticed her and all but slipped into the seat next to her and started asking her probing questions. She was still too irritated to be scared, so she vented. Taylor made sure to keep any personal details out of it, but “My dad doesn’t believe it wasn’t my fault, and life is shit” was a common enough story. It was even true so she didn’t have to wonder if the guy believed her.
He left her with a pat on the shoulder and a number, for when she “Figured out that there’s only one real force for good in this town, and it isn’t the cops.”
Taylor wanted to throw away the number, or burn it, but she knew better than to do so here.
She’d managed to get into the right room and could not listen in. Which is when she found out she was terrible at this. She’d chosen a seat close enough to overhear, but not so close to be suspicious, or so she’d thought. She’d misjudged. The hospital was crowded and the ambient noise level never went down. Phones rang, nurses and doctors walked by, patients fidgeted, children cried, there was never any calm. And it was loud enough that she could only make out bits and pieces from the Nazis, and none of it was coherent.
It was too late to move closer. Even she knew that would be suspicious. But the worst offenders? The worst offenders were a gaggle of old ladies nearby that just wouldn’t stop talking. Taylor resigned herself to failure, but at least she got away from Danny.
In time, the old ladies turned to local news and rumors. Taylor listened to those with half an ear. At least it was something.
***
Doctor Ritter looked up as Taylor came in. He sighed and gave her a steady look.
“Take off your top please Taylor. Let me have a look.”
Taylor shrugged off her jacket and hoody but hesitated at the shirt. The Doctor was out of his chair and firmly took her arm, stripping back the bandages with practiced motions.
“Who did these bandages?” he asked, voice tinged with disapproval.
“I did” she admitted, feeling her face heat up, even as her heartbeat picked up. She’d done it to look at why they were tingling, but she couldn’t say that.
When his face came back around, it had smoothed out. “I see. They did tell you not to do that? Bandages should-”
“I had to!” Taylor interrupted. Because it wasn’t like it was the first time she took them off. She was trying not to think about that. “I had to clean all the gunk off.” She shuddered.
“What gunk?” The Doctor asked, tone pointed.
“The gunk from used pads, tampons, probably from the girls bathrooms. Garbage from the cafeteria dumpster, because I’m pretty sure I saw rotten mystery meat in the shower, and so on. Some of my classmates decided to stuff in my locker, before stuffing me in it.”
Taylor hadn’t raised her voice. Nor was her tone abnormal, and she was proud of that. It was matter of fact. A bit resigned. Longsuffering. Doctor Ritters face had frozen.
“I’m sorry.” He offered, after an awkward moment. “So I’ll need to add your injuries to the police report?”
“What police report?” Taylor replied, and it was like the weight of the Boat Graveyard was pressing down on her as the memories she’d expected to show up the moment she tried talking about it finally surfaced from the balloon she’d crammed them in. Her sandwich would have made a mess of the floor if the doctor hadn’t reacted to the dawning look on her face. He’d grabbed a metal pan and placed it in her lap just in time.
Taylor wiped her mouth with the side of her hand and gave him a sickly smile.
“I’m the weird loner girl who stuffed herself into the locker because she acting out and calling for attention. There’s like, twelve girls saying it. The principle ate it up. Not like it’s the first time. No need to bother the cops when the guilty party already punished herself.”
As the pan rubbed against her ribs, she winced. The Doctor didn’t even need to say anything. The shirt came off and long cuts on her ribs were revealed.
“How did you even get this?” he asked, bewildered and increasingly agitated.
“Hit the locker door. Top hinge broke. Had to crawl out of there. Not like anyone was going to help. Took some contortion and it was a tight fit.” More and more, Taylor felt a bit surreal. What was wrong with her that she was spilling her guts like this to the first person that would talk to her?
“But you know the worst part? The really shitty thing? After those girls sang their song to my father, he believed them. After all, one of them was my former best friend. Not that he knew about that since he’s never there after…” Her voice broke.
Why was she like this. And now she was crying, and she hated. Hated all off it.
Doctor Ritter sighed. “Well, if you were in that kind of filth, we’ll need to do some bloodwork. Infections from rotten blood on an open wound are a serious matter.”
His hand touched her forehead, before grabbing her earlobe and he frowned. “Probably fever. Taylor, please hold this.” He reached out into one of the drawers and placed a thermometer under her armpit.
“We’ll need to do urine as well.” The Doctor told her.
Taylor wiped away tears, unsure what she was expecting anyway. For someone to believe her?
He started replacing and rewrapping her bandages, warning her that “This will only hurt a little.” Then taking his sample from the cut on her ribs, before disinfecting and wrapping them back up again.
While Taylor composed herself, he sat back down and picked up the phone, rattling off medical jargon.
“-and get me a psych consult. No I’m not joking. Yes it’s necessary. No, not next week, I mean now. Yes now. As in the patient is here and she should come down now, unless she has another emergency. Yes it’s an emergency.”
Finally, he put down the phone. “Sorry about that. You can get dressed.”
Taylor turned around and started putting on her clothes.
.
So he didn’t believe her.
.
No grown up ever did.
.
She heard the phone get picked up again.
.
Half-a-dozen beeps, as buttons were pressed.
“This is Doctor Owen Ritter, Brockton Bay General. I’ve got a fifteen year old female patient in here, and in my capacity as mandatory reporter, I need to report a crime.”
Taylor turned, holding her hoody to her chest, eyes open wide.
“No not neglect, though that might be going on too. I’ve got a psych consult coming in for a second opinion to confirm.” The doctor continued.
Her breathing was accelerating and the world grew blurry as her glasses slipped down to the tip of her nose. There was a pause. She pushed them up and met the Doctors serious gaze.
“Definitely assault and bodily harm. I’m running bloodwork for toxins and infections for grievous bodily harm.” He nodded. “Possible attempted manslaughter or murder.” he told the operator as Taylor stood in his office, arms bare and shaking. “In her school.” She could hear the swear words from the other side of the phone.
*Click*
He let go of the phone and told her: “I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you until my colleague arrives and clears you. Nurses are overloaded as is.” He shrugged as Taylor’s whole world up-ended for the second time in 24hs.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
***
There was quite a bit of shouting, when the police showed up. Danny was not enthused. He went white when Child Protective Services got involved. It was all a massive mess.
Not improved by the fact that she did have a fever and was infected even with her powers.
“Which, by the way, great work that.”
Ok, maybe she was infected before she got her powers, but if she had super healing it could at least work on diseases as well.
She’d been given a bunch of antibiotics and told to take them religiously if she didn’t want to develop septi-something. Which was basically her blood being poisoned by stuff that got in. Danny was to come back the next morning for an additional talk once the bloodwork came back. For now, she was exhausted, wrung out. Her body felt fine, restless even, but her mind was mush as she was dropped of at home.
“Go and just. Just go rest Taylor. Don’t get into any more trouble.” He said, before driving off to work.
***
Alright then. While she would prefer to spend this time testing out her powers, the boxes of meds she was given are a firm reminder that even if she felt fine, she was sick. So, Taylor resigned herself to a day of lounging about. And no, it wasn’t because Danny said so. She just wasn’t stupid enough to go against medical orders.
At least she’d get to find out how her new powers reacted to disease. Taylor swept into the house and appropriated some pillows, making herself a comfortable pile of pillows and blankets on the living room couch, facing the TV. Even with how many different books she wanted to try, her home wasn’t a library. Maybe the TV would help.
First, Taylor set about the easier part of all this. She looked through the bookshelves and picked out a variety of books, hoping some of them would react or prompt some kind of clue about her powers. The sizable load made a thump when she placed it on the couch.
The second part was harder. Picking out some classics from the shelves in the living room went alright, but if she was doing this, she was doing this right. Which is how Taylor found herself before her parents room, almost shaking in place.
The phone rang. Taylor flinched, than ran down the stairs, catching it on the firth bell.
“Hello?” she asked.
“Good day. This nurse Malkings from BBG. Can I talk to a Daniel Hebert?” a clipped, older, female voice asked.
“It’s just Danny. He’s at work.” Taylor rattled off his work number, wondering what was going on.
“Excuse me, but we just came from there. What’s going on?”
“You’d be Taylor, then? Your dad just needs to swing by and pick up some extra medicine. They’ll explain everything when he gets here.”
A part of her fumed. “Right. That all?”
“That’s all.” The line disconnected.
Taylor wasn’t sure what that was about. But needing more pills probably wasn’t good. What the hell did she have? What did those girls do to her?
She checked her own pulse and it was, maybe, a bit fast? She decided on a detour. It led her into the bathroom and added a thermometer and several glasses with some vitamins she dug up from a cupboard. They were not past their expiration rate. She’d checked. Her meds joined the glowing pile of stuff that would be in arms reach once she’d settled in.
Taylor found herself without another reason to stall. A deep breath meant to break her mood and refresh her, ended in a slow, soft sigh. Nothing really helped with the hole in her heart, one whose edges she was picking at right now. Slowly, she turned around and trudged up the stairs. And once she was moving, momentum carried her. Soon enough, she’d saw inside, looking at a room that was both familiar and a strangers.
Unfortunately she couldn’t just throw the room. She was pissed, but not that far gone. So Taylor poked into drawers, looked through a desk and rummaged in a closet. No matter where she looked she found nothing. No clothes, no books, no papers, no nothing. If the house had been mostly cleaned up of her Mom’s stuff, this room was sanitized. She wasn’t sure what it said about Danny’s headspace, but it probably wasn’t good.
Taylor had known most of her Mom’s stuff was up in attic, but she’d hoped to avoid that.
“Nothing to it.” she admitted to herself and started her preparations. First, she changed into old clothes that would be going straight into the washer after this. Then, she tied a handkerchief around her mouth and nose and another to firmly cover her tied up hair. Finally, she ascended into the land of dust.
Said adventure was long and difficult. While it wasn’t too strenuous in the attic, once she found the boxes with her mother’s books, carrying them down the attic stairs was not easy. It was also something she wouldn’t have tried before her body changed, but with her new strength she could manage. She closed everything up, cleaned out the worst of the dust and put the boxes in her room, under her bed. She also picked out a couple of titles that seemed interesting and left them on the couch.
With everything ready and her fingers aching a bit, Taylor made herself soup, sandwiches and settled in for a quiet afternoon of reading at around half past 12. She was resting, as Doctor Ritter ordered. Watching TV and reading surely counted, right?
Taylor picked out a book, dismissed the thermometer for now, and sunk deeper into her comfy pile.
***
Taylor was slowly paging through one of her geography textbooks with a sense of wonder, when she heard the truck come in. It was still early for Danny to come home, but there he was rushing in the door with yet more pills.
“There you are, Taylor.” He was breathing somewhat heavily, and quickly started unpacking the drugs. “Here, you need to drink these. Once a day, take them all together, ok sweetheart?”
“Well that was a quick turnaround.” she thought. Taylor looked into Danny’s eyes and felt the pain and cold in her heart somewhat ease. He looked spooked, genuinely worried. “Ok.” She muttered and took the pills, downing them with some water. “But why? What are they for?” she asked.
His eyes wavered, before he looked away. “They’re just in case. It’s not. They’re just in case. You don’t need to worry about that Taylor.”
“Yeah. That.”
She kept her response to a soft: “Ok.”
Taylor returned to her book. She’d glanced at the box and had the pills name. Well, most of it. She’d figure out what he was hiding.
“Good, good.” Danny glanced around the room, skimming the pile of books and the quiet TV. “Good. I have to get back to work.” She saw his hand rise and then fall, out of the corner of her glasses.
“Rest up.” he finished, and then as quickly as he’d arrived, he was gone.
Now, did she want to get up and tear into the drugs to figure out what she’d just taken? Kind of. But the psych woman had given her a mostly clean bill of health, so she wasn’t really worried about some kind of sedative or something. And she was in the middle of discovery. So she left that mystery for later. The world atlas was an eye opener.
She knew stuff. Just *pop* and knowledge would be in her head. If she focused, Taylor could almost feel the Card pulse every time she did it. Or it was all in her head.
“How many districts does Beijing have?” Nothing.
“Who is the mayor of Beijing?” Nothing.
“Who is the mayor of New Delhi?” *pop*
For another instant she didn’t know, and then suddenly she did. There was no transition, no sign, or feeling. It was just like she’d only forgotten about it for a moment and then it came back to her. Except she’d never learned that New Delhi had three mayors and that odd sense that if she wanted to know the mayor’s name, she really should specify: which one?
See that? That was both awesome, and kind of terrifying. Because she couldn’t tell if her power was feeding her answers, or actually messing with her memories. Taylor suspected the latter, as every question she’d gotten an answer to was still there. She couldn’t remember all the questions she’d asked, but for every one that she could, the answer was still there.
Furthermore, asking the same question multiple times didn’t seem to do anything.
Still, she was happy. It wasn’t the greatest power, but it was yet another one. It was like a theme with her. Lots of weak powers. Taylor just had to figure them all out. She picked up the next book and hesitated. The well worn cover of the “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn”. Taylor slowly opened the cover and found there was an inscription in it. The world blurred, even with her glasses, but she didn’t cry. Not really.
“Hey Mom.” she said, softly running her hand over the page. “Not really how I wanted to learn what inscriptions were, but here we are” she said, the words heavy on her tongue and heart.
It said:
“To Annette, may you share your light with generations of students. It would make the world a brighter place. Congratulations my dear, I look forward to hearing from you. Don’t forget us.
Signed, Professor Hamlin Kamp, Boston University.”
The world dissolved into a blurry mess. By reflex Taylor took off her glasses and put away the book. It was always a pain to clean them later. Her hand reached out and she realized her predicament. She’d forgotten to bring napkins or tissues.
A single laugh forced itself out of her, making an even bigger mess. It was silly, and stupid and unimportant and it didn’t matter. And it did. Suddenly it was as if she was there. In that horrible place, surrounded by people in black saying the same words over and over again.
“My condolences.”
“My condolences.”
“My condolences.”
“My condolences.”
A parade of black that did nothing to help.
.
Surrounded by gravestones.
.
.
She missed her Mom.
.
It hurt.
.
And it didn’t stop.
.
***
.
.
.
The couch was clean, a single blanket consigned to the washer. Taylor sniffed, but there was nothing there. She’d checked in the bathroom. The mirror had told her her eyes were a bit red, but that would pass. Everything passed.
Taylor settled back into place, her hands slowly squeezing and relaxing in the soft blanket she’d laid on top. It was nice. Feathery. Warm. She took a gulp of fresh juice and watched the TV for a bit. She had time.
Others didn’t.
***
Evening came, and with it, her father. Danny was worn out from the day, and came back to a cold home. Taylor had spent most of it huddled up and fallen asleep. He turned the heaters up, yet was surprised to find a warm oven. Inside was a still warm lasagne.
***
Danny woke her up and helped her half asleep mind to her room. The chill in the air woke her right up, so that by the time she was under the covers, sleep had fled. In its place was slowly building excitement.
Taylor had learned a lot today. Slowly, she focused on the Card in her heart and thought of her Encyclopaedia. She’d decided upon the name, sometime during the afternoon, having gained a much firmer idea of what it was, and how it worked.
Simply put, it was knowledge. Not a deep dive, but a little something about a lot of things. And the closer she got to the main books of the encyclopaedia, the more extensive the knowledge was. The two books she had right now were Social Studies, with a focus on culture, geography, history and current events. The second book was on technology, as her science books had revealed. Not so much the underlying principles, but… it was hard to describe.
Like father’s car. Taylor would have no idea how to repair a broken engine. But while she’d never done it, she had a decent idea how to change the head-lights. Stuff like that. Minor repairs and fixes, that were never the less much more than she’d known before.
As a second point, everything in the encyclopaedia was hit and miss. When she tried to really figure out how it worked, it came out to one answer every 2 to 3 questions. Not great, but not terrible. If this was her only power, she’d be disappointed, but it wasn’t. So Taylor would deal with it.
If the Encyclopaedia had a little bit of knowledge about a lot of things, the other two books were different. She wasn’t sure what it was, because she’d reached the limits of what she could test. They too were subject to the same one answer/2-3 questions rule.
Except instead of individual questions, it was more like an entire essay. It had only triggered once looking over the books she’d picked out from the boxes, but she could debate the finer points of “The Merchant of Venice”. At length. The knowledge they provided was much wider and deeper in scope, and it also had another limitation. Pushing those two gave her a pounding headache that nothing but resting helped with. More, once she already had a headache, using even the Encyclopaedia made it worse, if in much smaller increments.
Taylor named the other two books Towers, because they were intimidating in size and scope. They reminded her of Alexandria. Towering edifices of reports, books and compiled knowledge, just waiting to bury her if she reached too fast, too far. She wasn’t sure how many times she’d used the power before it was too much, but it was at least 6-7 times. Not bad for something so comprehensive. At least, when it worked.
The two books were Faery Tales, Myths and Legends, and English and English Literature. The second one was both painful and perfect. And she wanted to make it better. Unfortunately it didn’t work. While the Card in her heart had warmed up over the passing day, filling with rainbow motes, trying to force that warmth into the second book just didn’t work. There was nowhere for them to go. Sending it into the first...
A soft stream of multicolour particles emerged from her heart and climbed to her head before stopping. There was a blockage there. Something she had to do, or clear, or refine her body and mind, or something. Something was missing, or she didn’t meet some threshold, some condition for her to be able to improve and refine her knowledge of fairy tales. And she had no idea what. It felt so close, but Taylor didn’t know how to bridge that gap.
Her finally discovery of the evening was both the greatest one, and the most disappointing. It was an art book. Upon opening it, her mind had filled with different ways to mix watercolours, brush sizes and types, paper types and so on. She’d looked at a watercolour painting. And her mind had started churning the problem of how she could make one.
***
Taylor was elated. A power that made her an artist. It was amazing. She didn’t have watercolours on her, but some light sketching nearly blew her mind. Her lines were good. Great. They weren’t perfect, but good enough. Maybe even for professional work. The trouble came when she tried to do something new. As long as she was copying an existing piece of art, she was fine. And only then.
If she actually tried to be an artist, to make something new, her power deserted her. After a lot of experimentation, nothing worked. Oh, she’d feel the need to run out and by a hammer and chisel if looking at a statue. But only to reproduce it. Even trying to mix and match seemed to make her power almost spasm, as if screaming “Sacrilege! Heretic!”
***
So she had another very useful power. But not an artist one. She sighed. The rainbow of specks flowed back into the Card of the Scholar, unused, waiting. Taylor still wasn’t sure exactly how to make them do that. How to invest, empower, or spend those motes of power. But while she was reading all those books, she’d noticed some of them appear out of nothing inside her heart and flow into her mind. It had felt like quite nothing else. Both a mildly pleasurable tingle, and a somewhat painful itch down her spine.
Hells, with the copying or, reproducing, she supposed (or forging a distant part of her said), even if she needed to bolt, Taylor could probably pay her way in the world. There was only so much difference between copying a painting, and making a living portrait. And a short experiment with a mirror showed, she could make portraits just fine. Even if her hand was a liar. The woman in the sketch was far too… far too much to be her. Artistic licence, she thought. What kind of artist would make their work ugly?
“Then again,” Taylor thought, bitterness and hope warring within her, “what kind could make me look beautiful?”
Fully spent, Taylor slowly descended into a deep slumber.