A distant clank sounds from the hallway, and Ian glances over his shoulder again.
“Sorry,” he says, and reaches for my IV. “I have to put you out. Lindsay’s back from her break. This was kind of risky today, but I didn’t want you to miss the lip balm.”
My heart beats quickly. For an instant, I consider calling out to the other attendant to see if she would help me more than Ian, but already the meds are trickling into my veins, bringing the cool heaviness.
“When can I see you again, Ian John Cowles?” I ask.
“You’ll just have to wait and see, Miss Sinclair Fifteen,” he says.
It’s downright saucy, for him. He settles my hands at my sides and smoothes my nightie and blanket. He doesn’t kiss me, but he strokes a finger gently down my cheek.
“Let it be soon,” I say.
He closes my lid, and I see his palm pressed on the glass for a moment before he steps away.
I’m dying here. I feel like I’d make more progress begging a slug to throw me a life preserver, but I need Ian’s help to get free. I bite my lower lip, tasting cherry misery, and I can barely stop from crying in despair.
8
THEA
FACE LESSONS
“HOW ARE WE FEELING?” Dr. Fallon asked. “How’s your voice?”
She stopped by just as I was finishing breakfast. A mirror in her hand slashed an angle of light around the room before she placed it on my desk. Then she stepped to the window to adjust the shades, reaching in her white coat to expand my view of the trees and mountain. Another cloudy morning beckoned, and over the past week, the snow on the nearby pine had evaporated to a thinner layer.
“About the same,” I said. But my voice came out clearly, without the painful crackle I was used to. I touched my throat, amazed. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“And you sound very nice,” she said. “Your parents will be thrilled. Say your Pledge of Allegiance for me, slowly.”
I didn’t care much for Dr. Fallon, but it did me no good to be openly belligerent. I worked my mouth around the familiar words of the Pledge, surprised by the breathy, melodious sound of the new voice between my ears. I could hear the Texas in my vowels, and a cultured mellowness that struck me as classy. I liked it. It wasn’t me, of course, and Althea’s voice was higher than my old one, but it was nice. At last I could have an actual conversation.
I glanced at my phone, thinking I could call Ma, but then I realized she wouldn’t recognize my new voice. This was going to complicate things.
“Where are my parents?” I asked.
“I met them on my way up and suggested they step outside for a walk,” she said. “You’ll be out there soon yourself at this rate. How do you like your P.T.?”
“It hurts.”
“Because it’s working,” she said, smiling. “Marcus is very good at what he does. Sit up a bit more.”
Even with the heaviness of my belly, it was getting easier to sit up. My muscles had a new, restless eagerness, and my appetite had improved, too.
“What’s the mirror for?” I asked.
“I want to get your face going. In a way, it’s another form of P.T.”
“My face feels fine,” I said.
“It’s about to feel better.”
Dr. Fallon cleared my breakfast tray off my desk and propped up the mirror. The sunkenness around my eyes was noticeably less, and my acne was clearing up, leaving my tan skin smoother. My hair fell in dark, limp strands around my face, clean but dull. My face now belonged more to an acquaintance than a stranger, and I turned to see the little, familiar notch in the top of my ear.
Dr. Fallon pulled over a chair as she spoke. “The truth is, Althea, your features hardly move. They’re out of practice. We’ll have to teach your facial muscles how to express your feelings again, and once we do, you’ll appreciate the way it feels. When your cheeks and eyes feel a smile, for instance, they’ll codify backward to your emotions, and you’ll feel happier. To start, close your eyes. Now try a natural smile.”
I did as she said, curious.
“Is that completely comfortable and natural?” she asked.
“Yes.”
I heard a camera click.
“Good. Now open your eyes,” the doctor said.
I did. My reflection was basically deadpan, with only the slightest quirk to my lips. By concerted effort, I widened my lips more and achieved a freakish duck face.
“That’s frightening,” I said.
She laughed. Then she guided me through a series of uncomfortable grimaces. Inside, they felt extreme, but on the mirror, they hardly showed at all. She told me to feel the pull around my ears. I used my fingers to prod my new features—eyebrows, nose, and cheeks. I broke out in a sweat.
“It’s like trying to shape a mask,” I said and shook my head. “I don’t look anything like I did before.” As spoke, I realized I meant the way Althea had looked before, in her photos.
“Nobody really looks like they do in the mirror, or in pictures, for that matter,” Dr. Fallon said. “We think we know our faces because we put on our makeup in front of a mirror, but scrutinizing each pore doesn’t show us how we really look. A mirror never captures the way we laugh unselfconsciously with our friends.”
“Film comes closer,” I said.
She regarded me curiously. “You have point. The truth is, you’re a naturally beautiful girl, but without your normal animation, it won’t show.”
“I don’t care about being beautiful,” I said.
“Then you’re very unusual,” she said. “Most women appear to be ruled by their mirrors. As your doctor, I want you to have every advantage, including your natural expressions. I’ll have Marcus add a facial component to your P.T. sessions.” She smiled. “You’ve made tremendous strides these past ten days. You’re breaking all our records for recovery.”
I lowered the mirror. “That sounds like something you say to all your patients.”
Dr. Fallon leaned back. “In your case, it happens to be true, but it also brings me to another point I wish to discuss with you.”
“What?”
She slid her manicured hand along the edge of the table. “Your rapid recovery itself is some cause for concern. I don’t mean to alarm you. All the MRIs we’ve been taking are very reassuring. But the seeding operation is a very delicate procedure, and I need you to let me know if you experience any headaches or vision problems.”
“Why?” I asked. “What could happen?”
“Sometimes the host brain decides to team up against the new cells and kill them off,” she said. “Other times the new cells keep expanding, like tumors. They don’t so much kill off the old brain as crowd it, and then they starve off the blood supply. Either way, we need to step in quickly.”
“What’s that feel like, that crowding or whatever?”
“Headaches, at first,” the doctor said. “Double vision that can progress to blindness. If patients lose their speech again, then the overall prognosis is very poor. But please don’t worry. So far, we have no indication of anything like that happening to you. I just want you to be on the alert for any symptoms and be sure to tell us promptly.”