Charisma (12 page)

After Chloe's parents stop by with her overnight things and ask us twelve times how we feel, we get ready for bed. I nestle under the covers and turn off the light.

In the dark, Chloe speaks up. “Whatever we have, I've given to Jesse. You know how much that sucks?”

If CZ88's super-contagious, wouldn't more people have caught it from us? With Jesse as the only person
directly infected,
I can take an educated guess as to one transmission mechanism. But could you catch it with a kiss? A wave of
nausea twists
through my belly. Good thing Evie's checking on Jack.

Tomorrow, when I'm home, I'll call him myself. By then, I'll have more information. We all will. We have to.

Hunt for Gene Therapy Victims Broadens

Sondra Chevez, Northwest News Central

In light of recent reports of an unregulated gene therapy administered to seven Tacoma teenagers as well as reports of additional victims in several Northwest cities, authorities are scouring local hospitals for unexplained cases of fainting and coma. The families and friends of patients who've experienced such symptoms insist their loved ones acted much more boisterously than usual before they fell ill. Representatives from the State Health Department have set up a command post in Seattle, and our sources indicate they will host a news conference soon.

How far this has spread and who's to blame are among the many critical issues we're investigating, the most important of which is determining the potential danger of CZ88, or “Charisma,” to the general public.

The next morning, the news crews battle with protestors outside for sidewalk space. When the boys arrive after breakfast, we dream up disguises to get past the crazies unscathed. Except for Chloe, who can't wait to be filmed.

Sebastian insists we'll be less anxious if we get our blood pumping. Anything to release this awful jittery feeling. Even Xavier puts down his ever-present notepad to join us, laughing and flailing until he announces he needs to take a break. The sheen of sweat on his brow and the grayish edge to his complexion have Sebastian and me exchanging pointed glances.

Xavier's appearance only worsens when his parents arrive. His dad, who has the same buzz cut as his son, glares at us. He and his wife huff over to Xavier to each take an arm. Xavier's feet drag beneath a woeful gaze as they head out the door.

Two minutes later, an older male doctor summons the rest of the boys to their ward for a checkup. Dr. Culdicott arrives for Chloe and me. When the doctor pulls out a stethoscope, my new, sociable self asks, “Do you normally work in the ER or up here?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Up here, but after twenty years as an army doc, they welcome me in the ED too.”

Her take-no-prisoners demeanor makes a lot more sense. I ask, “How's Rosa?”

She slides the stethoscope around my back. “The same, I'm afraid.”

I try not to imagine the foreign DNA chomping through my system as the doctor checks my lymph nodes. Her expression remains neutral.

I say, “Dr. Sternfield mentioned I was exposed to some weird antibodies, probably when I visited Indonesia. Is that why I'm not fainting anymore or in a coma?”

“Possibly. It would be easier to answer if we could locate Dr. Sternfield.”

I clear my throat. “Could I have spread this to my family or boyfriend?” How bittersweet that this is the first time I've actually used the term
boyfriend
.

“Too soon to say. Have you and your boyfriend been intimate?”

Heat rises in my cheeks. “All we've done is kiss.”

“Then tell him to be alert for any symptoms. That's the same instruction we're giving all family members and anyone else who's had contact with you guys.”

I feel like a typhoid carrier.

Dr. Culdicott heads toward Chloe, who still has a fever. Without an answer on what time we can check out, Dr. Culdicott takes off.

Minutes later, the boys return. Except for Xavier, who's been taken for further testing. We go around the room assuring each other in hollow voices that the rest of us feel okay. Even Chloe, who clearly does not. The laughter of earlier has been replaced by protestors changing and cars honking outside.

Shane digs his hands in his pockets. “It's like that old horror movie, where everyone's trapped on an island while an insane person slaughters them one by one.”

Chloe's eyes widen in horror. If Jesse weren't busy comforting her, I'm sure Shane would be the next one slaughtered on this island.

I snap, “Aren't you the guy who said the groupies were worth a few headaches?”

His expression loses its typical edge. “Xave didn't look so hot. And I don't think it's because he and Sebastian stayed up half the night whispering to each other.”

On the chance he's really concerned, I say, “Xavier should get better soon. Whatever we have is probably not transmitted very easily, so as long as we're careful, they should let us go.”

That brings a grin flickering back onto Shane's mouth. “Define
careful
.”

I don't bother answering. Sebastian switches on the TV to a local news channel.

Two stories in, we find Dr. Gordon, flanked by a team of white jackets in the Nova Genetics auditorium. He announces, “We're vigorously investigating reports of an unsanctioned treatment allegedly administered by a researcher here. I want to emphasize that such behavior would be in gross violation of our strict standards. My staff is working with the authorities in their investigation and I'm directing our full efforts toward mitigating the situation.” He ends the conference and heads out of the room without answering any questions.

Chloe presses her palms to her face and moans. “Why are my ears ringing so loudly? Why can't I—” She slumps forward.

Jesse clutches her shoulders. “Chloe!”

I punch the call button. Within moments a nurse bursts into the room. After a quick check, she barks into a handset.

Dr. Culdicott rushes inside, followed by two aids rolling in a gurney. Jesse holds on to Chloe's hand as the orderlies move her off the bed.

Dr. Culdicott, grim-faced, marches next to the gurney. “You have to stay here.”

Jesse won't let go of Chloe's hand. “She needs someone who loves her nearby.”

The doctor uses a voice that's clearly given orders before. “Let her go. Now.”

Jesse's hand remains outstretched in the air for a few seconds after he releases Chloe's. Then, groaning, he plunks down at the foot of my bed.

I scoot next to him. “She's gotten better after fainting before, she can do it again.”

We sit silently, lost in thought. This is all so surreal. Why did Dr. Sternfield choose us in particular? Were we just the easiest marks, or did each of us offer some scientific reason for inclusion in her perverse experiment? I don't know whether being chosen randomly or deliberately would make me feel worse.

Sebastian rocks his chair back and forth, rubbing a hand over his hair. “Did you know Xavier started college a year early on a full scholarship? His family's so proud, but after he graduates they expect him to join his dad's practice. And marry a Filipino girl.”

I hand Sebastian a tissue. “What does he want?”

His smile is rueful. “To do medical research. And fall in love with whoever he wants.” He sniffs. “I wish we'd had a chance to hang out before now.”

I launch myself from the bed. “I'm calling Dr. Gordon. He needs to hunt down his daughter, even if they have to send out the Forest Rangers.”

Jesse punches his palm. “That crackpot research c
ompany should
be burned to the ground.” His face glistens with what I pray isn't a fever.

Shane says, “What we really should—”

A voice from the corridor sounds like it's coming through a bullhorn. “All of you, put a mask on now. They're on the bedside tables.”

“What's going on?” Jesse yells.

“We'll update you once you've complied.”

Since the only way to get information is to “comply,” we grab masks and call back to the person outside when our noses and mouths are covered.

Dr. Culdicott enters in what looks like a spacesuit. Her eyes flash wary behind the clear face shield. “We're going to maintain stricter infection control, and move you to a negative pressure room.”

Another masked person comes in to fiddle with the ventilation system. Or maybe he's cutting off our air, because suddenly I'm struggling to breathe.

Shane sinks into a chair, stretching his legs out the way he did in the Nova Genetics teen group meeting. “We've already got whatever it is Dr. Charlotte gave us. Why the wartime measures?”

Despite Shane's casual attitude, my muscles pull in
tighter and
tighter. And Dr. Culdicott crosses her arms around herself solemnly. There's something bad coming. Really bad.

Finally, with a sigh, Dr. Culdicott says, “I'm very sorry to tell you that your friend Rosa has passed away.”

My body freezes. It doesn't seem possible that Rosa's gone. Forever. And for what? Because she wanted to talk to the boy she liked, and was desperate enough to be seduced by Dr. Sternfield, who is now a murderer.

Dr. Culdicott gazes over our heads out the window for a moment, and then snaps to attention. She clears her throat. “Our PCR tests have identified the same virus in all of your blood samples, probably the vector used by Dr. Sternfield to deliver the altered DNA. Normally, gene therapists remove the infectious aspects of these viral vectors, but perhaps in her eagerness, something went wrong.”

Sebastian says, “But can you cure it?”

“Identification is the first step. We're starting all of you on a regimen of interferon, which is effective against a number of other viruses. But even if we halt CZ88's vector, your symptoms are likely the result of the altered DNA it carried, which could remain in your cells after the virus stops spreading. It's complicated.”

Of course. Complicated. Which means they'll never figure it out in time. Instead of a fever, I feel cold, so cold.

Even Shane looks like the sass has been knocked out of him. He rocks his chair back on two legs and then lets it fall forward with a
thunk,
over and over.

Dr. Culdicott says, “We've notified your parents, who won't be allowed to visit for now.” She takes a long breath. “I'm sorry about Rosa. Losing someone so young is always a damn shame.”

She asks the boys to gather their belongings from the other room. Jesse stays behind to collect Chloe's things, and I grab my stuff as well as the little notepad Xavier left behind. I flip through pages, which list dozens of possible genes along with scribbled notes. It's enough to get my hopes up until the last page, where he scrawled
JUNK
in huge letters, as if he decided that all his speculation didn't amount to anything.

A masked nurse escorts us to an airlock chamber that seems to suck us into the room. The scared eyes of the boys blink over their masks. We claim beds half-heartedly.

The brightly lit space has no windows and is lined in plastic sheeting, floor to ceiling. A steady hum of something draws our possibly diseased breaths through filters for scrubbing. The nurse only stays a few minutes before excusing herself. Once the door shuts, we rip off our masks. To hell with them. CZ88 is already running through all of us.

Sebastian's eyelashes glisten, and for once his body is still. “Poor Rosa. Do you think she got any enjoyment from the Charisma before, you know?”

I grab a tissue. “She was hopping with excitement because she finally got together with the boy she crushed on.” I share tidbits about Rosa, as if that will acknowledge her life. That's what prompted all of us to accept the Charisma in the first place, right? To be seen, to be known, to connect. How dare Dr. Sternfield exploit us for that?

Shane sighs. “I say we demand Dr. Gordon figure out how we can see our families, or at least make good-bye videos for them, just in case.”

I expect Sebastian to scold him for being so morbid but instead he jumps off the bed. “Every second is precious. Video me. In honor of Rosa.”

I snatch my phone and point the camera at Sebastian, who's already begun to spin and stretch and leap as if crazed. Even when sweat beads down his neck, he keeps at it, pirouetting once, twice, five times in a row. He doesn't stop until his legs give out. Kneeling on the floor, he sobs.

Shane and I run over and grab his shoulders. Although I hate to ask, I have to. “Are you sick, Sebastian? We'll buzz the doctor.”

Sebastian rises. “No! It's not like they can do anything anyway. Frustration and hopelessness are stamped on their faces.” He gazes at Shane and me. “Just like it is on yours. You can't hide your feelings from me, not since I got the Charisma.”

Shane and I exchange quizzical glances. Is the gene alteration causing Sebastian to become delusional?

Swaying, Sebastian stumbles. “Gonna lie down.”

Shane steadies him by the elbow. “Fantastic idea.”

I cross my arms and pace, cursing at myself for being so gullible. When I see Dr. Sternfield, I'm going to take advantage of this voice I'm no longer afraid to use. Maybe these fists too. I say to Jesse, “You're the only one who's truly innocent in all this.”

He's next to the door, tossing a cup, catching it in one hand and then the other. “I don't know how you guys could've been so clueless.”

I stare at the floor. “It must be hard for someone like you to understand why anyone would be so desperate to change.”

He catches the cup with a hollow smacking sound. “What do you mean, someone like me?”

“Someone who has it all: good-looking, confident, athletic. I'll bet you've always gotten loads of attention, the star football player.”

He twists his face. “I'm not a star. Not that I haven't been tempted to do something radical to become one.”

“Steroids?”

“That's what the real stars on our team do. Everyone knows it. Sometimes, I've come so close to joining them, just to shine. But that wouldn't really be me. It's cheating.”

“You think the CZ88 was our way of cheating?”

He steadies his gaze. “Don't you?”

The phone by my bed rings. We all glance at each other. It rings again. Shane seems glued to Sebastian, and Jesse won't stop with the stupid cup. I snatch up the handset.

“Aislyn?”

My heart skips. “Jack? How did you find me?”

“Well, your mom acted weird when I called your house and Evie's been texting me all kinds of bizarre health questions. So when I saw those news stories, it didn't take honors math to make the connection.”

I clear my throat. “I've been meaning to tell you, but I'm so embarrassed.”

“This Charisma drug is why you stopped running away from me?”

I bite at my lip. “I never wanted to run, but it was so hard to talk to you.”

“Why? I was always into you. You're the prettiest, smartest girl I've ever met.”

“I didn't feel that way. Look how nervous I was at Drew's party. And at the science contest, oh my God.”

“You would've warmed up to me eventually, on your own.”

“Well, now we'll never know.”

There's a long enough silence for trembling to take root in my legs. Finally, he says, “As long as you're okay and can get out of there soon, it doesn't matter.”

I turn my back to the guys and cup a hand near my mouth. “You might not think so after I tell you the rest. One of the girls here gave what we have to her boyfriend. They've been, um, very physical, I think, but the doctors moved all of us into a pressure-controlled room now that someone died.”

There's a catch to his voice. “Someone died?”

I tell him about Rosa.

His breathing is audible and rapid. “Should I get tested too?”

“Call Dr. Culdicott here at the hospital. Have you been feeling different? Like more outgoing? Or getting headaches? Or light-headed?”

“Nothing like that.” Another pause. “I'll call that doctor. Aislyn, this is crazy.”

“I'm so, so sorry. Tell me what happens with the doctor. Please.”

“Of course.”

And he will, unlike me, who couldn't find the guts to call him first. When I hang up I have a headache. A sign of impending coma? I slip under my covers and pull them over my head. But squeezing my eyes shut against the world doesn't help any. Even when I fall asleep. My dreams are dark and furious.

In the middle of the night, the door suctions open and two orderlies wheel an unconscious Sebastian to ICU. A moan erupts from my throat and I feel so, so heavy. In my half-asleep state, I promise myself that as soon as I'm able, I'll post his dance video online. Let the world get to know him in a way we'll never get to know Rosa.

The next morning, a new doctor delivers the news that all the other teens who accepted CZ88 are comatose. There are also a number of patients at Seattle General with similar symptoms.

My breathing becomes shallow. “So why haven't we gotten sick yet?”

The doctor says, “Even when plagues killed off millions, there were plenty who survived. Maybe you're the lucky ones.”

I fall backward on my bed.

Jesse grunts. “Great. We've got the plague. I feel so lucky.”

The doctor fidgets, his protective clothing making a chafing sound. “Every person is different, with different immunities.”

Jesse starts with the cup tossing again, missing the doctor's mask by inches. “Or maybe the virus is taking its time, like AIDS.”

“You three are stable at this point.”

Jesse laughs. “At this point. Chloe seemed fine after she stopped fainting. And then, boom!” The cup lands on the floor with a large
crack
.

The doctor takes a long breath. “I know it must be frustrating.”

Jesse growls and claws at the bedcover. His eyes are wet and red. “It's been over a day since I fainted. The calm before the storm, right? How long do you think I have?”

The doctor tries to reassure him. But what can he say? And I've been symptom-free longer than Jesse, so if there's a storm coming, it'll hit me first.

I get up to pull the curtain around my bed. “You can do my exam.”

Without commenting much, the doctor lumbers to each bed and performs our examinations. Except for some ringing in Jesse's ears, we're all stable. For. Now.

The doctor waddles out.

Shane grabs the phone next to his bed and dials. “Hello, Dr. Gordon. This is Shane again. We need something better than these ancient phones to communicate with our family and friends while it's still possible. Otherwise, I'll see if a news station can provide us with something in exchange for an interview about your daughter.” He slams the receiver.

Jesse perks up enough to give him an air high five. “Serves the bastard right.”

My phone rings. I jump to get it.

Mom says, “Oh, sweetie! How are you?”

“Okay. Just sad about Rosa, and worried about the others.” As well as myself.

“Honey—” A small sob comes through, which sends ice to my core. Mom never cries. She's always so, so busy on our behalf.

Somehow she regains her composure enough to say, “Dr. Gordon is confident they'll figure something out. They're digging into the DNA component of the virus they found in you kids. You just have to hang tough, the way I know you can, okay?”

I swallow. “I'll try.”

Sammy's raspy voice joins her on the other extension. “Get home soon, Aislyn.” He coughs.

My voice breaks. “I'm so sorry about all this, you guys.”

When we finally hang up, I can hardly breathe. Shane, who's also just finished a call, looks as green as I feel. He pounds a fist on his bed. “Have the docs interrogated you about, uh, contacts?”

“I guess.” Suddenly, understanding dawns. “Is one of your girlfriends sick?”

He rubs his eyes. “The two girls I hung out with on my show are saying stuff. I mean, there was a little kissy-face for the camera, but we were saving something for the next episodes, you know? Anyway, one of their families is threatening a bogus lawsuit.”

I cross my arms. “You mean to tell me that the great player Shane hasn't had any hookups since he got the Charisma?”

He squirms. “I just met them. I'm not that much of a dog.”

Jesse harrumphs from his bed on the other side of Shane's.

I rub my lips, remembering Jack's warm touch. Oh, God, I hope I haven't given him whatever I've got. If only Mom had interrupted all of our dates.

A bubble of despair rises in my throat. Not wanting to break down in front of these guys, I hustle into the room's adjoining bathroom. Under a hot shower, I let myself cry and pound the tile. When my hands are bruised and my skin pruned, I shuffle back to the room.

A masked person in a biohazard suit works on an outlet. He rears back from me and says, “You need to put on a mask right now.”

I quickly grab one. There's a laptop at the foot of my bed. Shane clicks away at another one on his tray table. Twenty minutes later, the technician rises and gathers his things. “I don't know who you guys bribed, but you've now got your own Internet connection.” He bolts toward the door.

I log on. My page explodes with posts, many congratulating me for changing myself for the better, many more hoping I don't drop dead in the process. Kiera must've outed the rest of us. Surprisingly, a handful of people ask how they can score some Charisma too. And a message from a woman in Los Angeles asks how to deal with the “slutty” side effects. Okay, that has to be a joke.

I thrash through Nova Genetics' site in search of a picture of Dr. Sternfield we can use for an online search party. Camping trip, my ass. Squinting, I examine the staff page once, then again.

“It's like she never existed,” I say, a chill slithering through my body.