1st 5 Pages April Workshop - Wooten

Name: Jeff Wooten
Genre: Young Adult Science-Fiction
Title: Jake Tenkiller and the Widow’s Lament


Emily watched the traffic through the bars of her window, trying to imagine she didn’t exist. The hospital parking lot was filling up, and the interstate was thick with morning commuters. People she would never know were going places she would never see…and that was fine, the way it was supposed to be.


The door opened behind her, pulling her back from her daydream, but she didn’t look. People moved out of sight, busy at some task; a hinge squeaked and something locked into place, wheels rolled on linoleum, feet and papers shuffled. The sounds of retreating steps and the shutting of the door told her someone had left. The squeak of an office chair told her someone had stayed.

“Emily Gardner?”

She flinched at the sound of her name but resisted the urge to turn.

“Emily, would you come sit with me?” The voice was male and rang with authority. A small impatient silence followed when Emily didn’t move. “You can come by your own free will,” the man said, “or I can drag you over.”

Emily turned, somehow managing to keep her face a mask. A handsome man sat behind a small folding table. His eyes, a remarkable blue, might have been chunks of ice for all the warmth they held. A smile split his face, and Emily knew at once she didn’t like him.


The man motioned to the other side of the table. “And bring your chair when you come.” He began to riffle through a neat stack of documents on the tabletop. Emily watched him for a few seconds longer, wondering if he would actually put his hands on her. Thinking of his eyes, she knew he would. She stood, taking her time, her movements slow and deliberate.


She walked behind her chair, picked it up, and walked to the table. The man didn’t look up from his papers as Emily placed her chair across from him. The documents appeared to be demanding all his attention. Emily knew the game: Who would talk first? The table and papers were odd though. Who used paper these days? Was it a distraction of some sort? Did it have any purpose at all? Was it working?

Emily took a small breath. It didn’t matter.

She circled in front of her chair and sat. Several minutes passed before the man found the page he wanted. He pulled it from the stack, and read it to himself as Emily waited. A few strands of black hair fell from the man’s brow. Emily guessed him to be about forty, as old as her dad. He wore a white lab coat like all the doctors did, and wore glasses too. Thick black rimmed glasses. Her dad wore glasses like that.


Had, she corrected herself, had worn
.
The man eyed the paper in his hand. “It says that you were the lone survivor in a plane crash. Is that correct?” Warmth spread over Emily’s cheeks as the man looked at her. “Did I say something wrong?” he asked. A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Your father Bruce was the pilot, your mother Nancy was with you and one more.” He went back to the stack, flipped through the documents until he found something that he stabbed with a finger. His eyes lifted again. “Yes, a brother, a younger brother, Thomas. What did you call him? Thomas, Tom, Tommy?”

Emily shifted in her chair and regretted it as the man’s eyes registered her discomfort. Something hot flashed inside her, and she wanted to throw something. Why won’t they just leave me alone? Her rising emotions made her uncomfortable, and she forced the anger down.

“You turn fourteen in ten days and have been here for six months. That’s a long time not to speak, don’t you think?”


He was trying to get some sort of response, that much was clear. Emily worked hard to keep her expression neutral, determined not to let him win. The man thumbed through the documents again, pulling one page out. He examined it for a second or two, turned it around and placed it on the table. He slid the paper over to Emily. “Do you remember taking this test?”


Emily gritted her teeth but looked anyway. It was the front page only of what had been a packet, and she did remember, even though it had been months since she’d taken the test. It was a weird exam, not like any she’d taken before, and that’s what made her remember. She’d skipped questions she didn’t feel like thinking about, and answered only the ones she’d wanted too. She’d been surprised by how many she answered. The questions about shapes and how they fit together were the best, questions with hidden pictures inside random squiggles. Brain teasers were what her dad called them. She’d thought of her dad, working the puzzles out. Maybe that’s why she’d cooperated and taken the test in the first place. It had made her remember…or forget. It was hard to tell sometimes which made her the least sad. She looked up from the paper, into the man’s blue eyes, and said nothing.

“It’s rare someone scores as high as you. Did you know that?” He waited for just a second then continued. “You haven’t said a word since the crash; the airplane crash in which three people perished. Your mother Nancy, father Bruce and brother Thomas all died. Is that correct?” Again he paused. “Did you know traumatic events--physical or emotional--can sometimes alter brain chemistry? Change the way the human brain functions altogether? Cortisol reaction, serotonin and norepinephrine alterations. Most times these changes are…undesirable. Sometimes they aren’t. Were you injured in the plane crash?”


The familiar feeling of guilt, remorse and other stranger emotions washed over Emily but never quite touched her. She wasn’t that girl anymore. That girl had a family, that girl had love, that girl had a future. That girl was dead.

Boris’ fingers on the tabletop began to drum a steady beat. Thump-thump-thump-thump. “In all the multiverse there are only a few brains like yours Emily.” Thump-thump-thump-thump. “The genetic material must be present, of course,” thump-thump-thump-thump, “but even then few score so high. My name is Boris. Boris Halt.” Thump-thump-thump-thump. “I have come a long way to see you at the behest of the Emperor.”

He’s crazy, Emily realized, and she stared at him trying to see the madness that had to be there. All she saw was cold calculation, and it dawned on her that she’d never been alone with just one person before. Was he a patient like her? An escapee roaming the halls with the clothes of the doctor he’d killed? She pushed herself back from the table, moving slow, a shiver running through her.


“My question is,” Boris continued ignoring her discomfort, “is there still enough of you in there, or are you too far gone to be salvaged?”


The words stung, and Emily didn’t keep all of the anger off her face.

“Yes, there you are,” Boris said. “A thing of anger and fear, but there you are.” He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. Two men entered the room as if they’d been waiting just behind the door. They carried something limp between them. Emily’s eyes widened in horror, and she stood, knocking her chair over. Boris watched her, a self-satisfied grin on his lips.