FIVE YEARS LATER
Photographs covered the dining room table like a mosaic, interrupted only by a plate of scrambled eggs growing colder. Edna blinked some moisture off her eyes and browsed for another picture. Norton returned from the kitchen with a second cup of coffee and draped his other hand over his wife's shoulder. She reciprocated, covering his hand with hers.
"Seems like just yesterday, doesn't it?" Norton mused.
Edna sighed. "Where do the years go?"
Norton let out a single chuckle then took a sip from his mug. "I'm not sure, but I know I'm glad I've spent them with you."
The tears that had been forming finally trickled down Edna's cheeks as she turned and looked up at her husband. "Ditto," she whispered.
The two kissed until Norton caught sight of the wall clock. He peeled away with a reassuring smile then called out, "Hank, you're going to be late for school!"
Moments later, their teenage son came swinging down the stairs. With a firm grip on the lip where the staircase wall met the dining room ceiling, Hank vaulted over the console table and landed on the chair in front of his plate. "Morning, Mom! Dad! Looks great."
"I'm sure it would've tasted better if you'd come down when your mother called you," Norton scolded.
"And what have I told you about treating the world like your personal jungle gym?!" Edna admonished. "You're going to get yourself hurt!"
Hank swallowed a shovelful of eggs then offered, "Sorry." Noticing the moisture on his mom's face, he added, "I promise, Mom, I'm careful. I only take calculated risks. I'm not going to let anything happen to me."
Edna wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve. "I know, honey, I know. I wasn't crying because of that; I've seen you do far stupider. I just found this box of old photos this morning, and I got caught up looking through them."
Hank shoveled another scoop of eggs into his mouth and glanced over the mosaic scattering. As he swallowed, he pointed to one of his baby pictures. "Wow. So my hands and feet have always been massive, huh?"
Norton patted his son's back. "Yep. The doctors say that when the mutation causes a structural change, it's normally present from birth. It's the other kinds of mutations that don't kick in until puberty."
"Yeah, I remember you saying something about that before. I just..." Hank set his fork down. "It's weird to see photographic proof. I suppose, sometimes, that I'm able to convince myself that it's not real. That I'm normal."
"Honey, you are normal!" Edna interjected.
"Edie, let him finish," Norton countered gently.
Hank began again, "I just mean that... sometimes, in my mind's eye, I don't have mutated feet; I just have big feet, you know? And I guess I've just strung enough of those days together that seeing this picture... It was like someone pulled a card out of the bottom of my house of cards."
"Oh, baby," Edna said as she scooted her chair over to embrace her son. "I'm so sorry."
"Please don't apologize, Mom. It's not like you unearthed these photos specifically to shatter my illusion. I just wasn't prepared."
Edna hugged her son tighter, and Norton leaned in to hug them both. Once Edna and Hank had dried their eyes, Norton ushered, "Come on, son. I'll take you to school."
***
"We got a hit!" Scott yelled as he burst through the door into Charles's office.
Charles reacted by immediately hanging up his phone call. "You're kidding!"
"I hope I'm not. I had Narrator read the forum post to me three times to make sure, but maybe I still misheard."
"Don't fret, Scott; I'm right behind you."
Scott turned around and led Charles back to Scott's room. Charles rolled up in front of Scott's computer and read the post for himself.
Nits Note Ka Ists
Quote from: BeamMeUp
Hey. Posted here a few times before. Starting to wonder if I correctly understand what this forum means by "gifted"...
Took a look at your problem and came up with this (attached).
rosetintedglasses.pdf
"What's 'Nits Note Ka Ists'?" Charles asked.
"I assume that's his username. Or hers. You know, like how I go by 'BeamMeUp'?"
"Oh, yes, that makes sense."
Charles continued reading as Scott stewed in hesitant excitement.
"This is indeed a breakthrough," Charles eventually confirmed. "So, how do we contact this Nits Note Ka Ists?"
"You mean for, like, recruiting them?"
"Precisely. They were the first one to respond to us in... however long we've been searching. Plus," Charles continued as he clicked on the link, but he said nothing further as he waited for the file to load.
Scott allowed him a moment then asked, "'Plus' what?"
"Sorry, I was waiting for the file to op- oh, there it goes. Let's see here." Charles once again drifted into silence.
After a while, Scott hazarded in preemptive dejection, "Was it a virus?"
"No," Charles whispered through his awe. He cleared his throat and clarified, "No, quite the opposite. This schematic is brilliant. I'm thoroughly impressed."
"Do you think it's going to work?" Scott begged in renewed excitement.
"I have high hopes, Scott, but there's only one way to know for sure, and that's to build it."
Charles peeled out of Scott's room, intent to get the ball rolling as soon as possible. Scott called out after him, "I'll figure out how to send Nits a private message!"
***
Hank cracked his neck on each side as he watched the losing team gather up the dodgeballs and place them along the half court line.
"Alright, last game of the day," Coach called out, making no attempt to hide the boredom in his voice. "Show me what you got."
Hank put one hand against the wall behind him and zeroed in on the ball he wanted.
"Swenson, get that hand on the wall! Alright, everyone ready? Set," then Coach blew his whistle.
Hank bolted forward, less running and more leaping towards half court. Despite his cervine speed and motion, a girl on the other team arrived at the same ball at the same time. With equal, blinding drive, the two crashed into each other. The girl was knocked onto her buttocks, but Hank merely staggered backwards.
Are you okay? I'm sorry!
The two responses formed in Hank's mind simultaneously, and before he could disentangle them, he demanded, "Are you sorry?!"
The girl's jaw dropped. However, Hank's gentle and courteous reputation preceded him, so with another second of thought, she realized what had happened, and she broke out laughing.
Coach blew his whistle to pause the game then started towards them. Hank was too flustered to move, let alone speak, so the girl got to her feet on her own, grabbing Hank's glasses on the way up. "Here," she pushed out over the remnants of laughter in her voice, "you dropped these."
Hank took his glasses back and started to defrost as Coach reached the two. "Crocker, you okay? Anything broken?"
"I'm fine, Coach," she confirmed.
"You, McCoy?" Coach asked Hank perfunctorily.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay, Coach."
"Alright," Coach concluded. He picked up the ball between them, handed it to the girl, then returned courtside. "Play ball!" he announced before blowing the whistle to resume the game. The girl immediately threw the ball at Hank, who made no attempt to dodge it. "McCoy, you're out!" Coach called.
"Are you sorry?" the girl quietly teased as Hank walked off the court. Hank just beamed, and she responded by sticking out her tongue.
Later, as the class exited for the locker rooms, Hank caught up with the girl. "Carly, I- I am sorry about earlier. I tried to say-"
"I know, Hank, I know. You're just such a gentle giant that the thought of you talking trash caught me off guard. I mean, you see the humor in it, right?"
A monstrous reflection appeared in Hank's mind. He sidestepped the question and continued, "But you're not hurt, right?"
Carly stopped, so Hank stopped, too. She looked around and waited for everyone else to disappear. Satisfied no one was listening, she leaned in and whispered, "I landed on my ass, Hank. Have you seen my ass?"
Hank smirked. "I don't think there's a correct answer to that question."
Leaning in closer, Carly explained, "Well, on the off chance you haven't seen it, it's quite... Oh, what's a word that you would use? Ample."
Hank grinned like a Cheshire cat.
Carly mirrored his grin before bouncing away. She paused in the doorway to turn around and confirm, "I'm fine, Hank. Really."
"I'm glad," Hank accepted.
Hank made the short walk to the locker room but was hailed before he could open the door. "McCoy, can I see you in my office?"
"Certainly?" Hank pulled out of his racing mind.
"You're not in trouble," Coach offered, hearing the concern in the kid's voice.
"Oh, thank goodness."
The office door closed itself behind them. Coach took a seat and motioned for Hank to do the same. "There's no easy way to say this, son, so I'm just gonna rip the Band-Aid off. You're off the football team."
"What? Why?!" Hank cried out.
"It's, uh... it's nothing you did, son. Not really. You can't help it."
Hank's heart sank as the answer dawned on him.
Coach continued, "But, the state passed a law that went into effect this school year, that physicals for extracurriculars have to test for the X-gene now, and, well..."
"I tested positive," Hank finished for him.
Coach sighed. "Yeah."
Hank took a deep breath then asked, "So, who else knows?"
"Well, luckily the law isn't that intrusive. The only people who learn are the coaches. We're not obligated to tell the other staff members or even your parents, although I'm sure most coaches are telling them anyway, but I haven't. I don't care if you're a mutant. I just..."
"You do care if you have a job," Hank finished again.
Coach stared off into the distance. "I mean, some of these non-mutant kids have way more muscle than you, but-" He started to accentuate with waving hands. "-just because you get yours from an X-gene, suddenly it's an unfair advantage." He sighed again and looked straight in Hank's eyes. "I'm sorry, son. If it were up to me, I'd keep you, but it's not up to me."
Hank hung his head. "I understand, Coach. Is that all?"
Coach slumped back in his chair. "Yeah, son. That's it. You're free to go."
"Thank you, Coach." Hank stood up and turned towards the door but then pivoted back. "And, thanks for keeping this between us."
Coach nodded then stared as Hank turned and left, as the door closed itself once more, as all the beige in the room seemed to run together. He wondered if this hollow feeling would ever leave him.
***
Jean walked through the front door, dropped her backpack to the floor, and slumped on the couch. She rubbed the temples of her throbbing head but found no relief. I know I should just walk the ten feet to the kitchen, get the Tylenol, and go to bed, but I - God, even my own thoughts hurt. She cocooned herself in the afghan off the back of the couch and forced herself to sleep. Mom'll be home in a couple hours. She'll take care of me...
***
Hank lifted his head off the microscope and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, then he checked the wall clock. It ticked incessantly, refusing to fade into the background of Hank's perception.
The longer this takes, the harder it becomes to convince Mom and Dad that I simply stayed late after practice.
He wrestled his gaze away from the clock and searched for more tools. As he staved off his panic, his breaths became boxy but measured, abrupt in start and end but consistent in length and frequency. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he sounded like an iron lung.
The school science lab grew grim as the sun set through the windows. The sterile appliances and dim light rendered an eerie milieu in combination. Hank barely noticed, more focused on finding a syringe.
Several minutes later, Hank sat in front of his microscope once again. He drew a translucent liquid into a pipette, deposited the liquid into a test tube, drew the liquid into the syringe, then paused with both fists on the table.
It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't have to be the cure. It just has to suppress the X-gene long enough to give a false negative.
He picked up the syringe and rolled it back and forth between his index finger and thumb. Maybe it could be a cure, though. A cure for me. Maybe I'll no longer be this hideous beast. He let out a single chuckle. I will miss being able to swing into the dining room, though. Being able to throw a football with my feet. He stared at the liquid in the syringe, but the liquid made no effort to stare back. It sloshed gently, completely neutral. He turned to look at the mirror hanging over the nearest sink. All he saw staring back at him was a monster.
Resolved, he set down the syringe and tore open a disinfecting wipe. He found a vein in his left arm, wiped the spot clean, then guided the syringe inside. He inhaled through gritted teeth as he depressed the plunger, sending the manipulated sample of his DNA directly into his bloodstream.
Nothing happened immediately. He hadn't suspected that it would; he knew it would take time to integrate into his system. He taped a cotton ball to the injection site then made quick work of covering his tracks, washing all the pieces of equipment and returning them to their rightful places. With one last survey of the room, he locked the door behind him, slunk out of the school, and hurried home.
***
"Jean?"
The voice came quiet and gentle, but Jean was just outside the realm of consciousness.
"Jean?"
A twinge of urgency snuck its way into the voice. Jean remained asleep.
"Jean?!"
Jean snapped awake and found herself suspended upright a few feet above the couch. The couch itself was suspended above the floor, as was the rest of the living room furniture. Jean never turned around to check, but she was innately aware that the kitchen cabinets behind her were open and empty as their contents had drifted out and up, similarly suspended. Elaine stood still just inside the open front door.
"Mom?!" Jean cried softly in scared confusion.
Elaine swallowed then attempted to put her purse down on the floor only to find that it levitated back up. She turned from the purse back to her daughter and approached slowly. "It's okay, Jean."
"What's happening?" Jean begged, almost silent behind her fear.
Taking a few more steps, Elaine suggested with motherly warmth, "Let's get you down from there first, and then we'll talk it over, okay?"
Jean bit her lip and nodded.
"That's my girl," Elaine praised as she stepped around the floating couch. "Alright, try not to move yourself. I'm just gonna bring you down to me, okay?" Jean nodded once more, so Elaine grabbed her daughter's foot gingerly, as if it were broken, and pulled her daughter down slowly. Nothing else seemed to move, so Elaine continued pulling. She remarked to herself how strange it was that her daughter felt weightless. When Jean was close enough, Elaine grabbed her daughter's sides with similar care. "I've got you, baby," Elaine assured as she brought Jean to the ground and into her arms.
Everything in the air around them crashed to the ground as Jean clutched her mother tightly. Elaine did her best not to react to the shockwaves, especially the one from the couch, and just clutched her daughter in return.
After a few minutes, Jean peeled away from her mother and asked, "What's wrong with me?"
"Oh, Jean. Nothing's wrong with you."
Jean opened her mouth to protest but clutched her temples instead as an intense pain surged through her head.
"Another headache? Oh, honey. Sit on the couch, and I'll get you some Tylenol."
Moments later, Jean forced two pills down with some 7-Up as Elaine took a seat beside her. "Do you remember all those years ago when you were in the hospital?" Elaine started. "After... after Annie passed, and your father and I told you that you were a mutant?"
"Yes," Jean confirmed solemnly, the reminder unwelcome.
Elaine continued, "We always knew this day would come. Your powers are supposed to develop in your teen years; that incident when you were ten was a- a- a fluke."
"I thought I just had, you know, mind reading, though," Jean explained.
A gentle smile graced Elaine's face. "Well, honey, you're extra special. You have two... oh, I don't remember what they're called, but you have two powers. Search that wonderful mind of yours; your father and I did tell you."
The events of ten minutes ago still had Jean's mind aflutter, but she dug through her memories and found the one corroborating her mother's claim. "Oh. I guess I'd just forgotten. Honestly, I think I was still so scared, I just pushed it out of my mind. Or, I mean, buried it, I guess, since I still have it."
"That would be a completely normal response for a child that age. I don't blame you whatsoever." Elaine gave Jean a moment to process then continued, "But yes, you have the genes for both telepathy and telekinesis."
"That's why you weren't more freaked out when you came home," Jean extrapolated.
Elaine laughed, "I mean, don't give me too much credit; I was definitely caught off guard!" She took her daughter's hand in both of her own. "I was more worried about you. They make furniture every day. There's only one Jean."
Jean leaned in, hugged her mother, then joked, "I'm sure there's more one person in the world named Jean, Mom."
"Nope!" Elaine insisted. "There's only one Jean in the whole wide world, and she's mine!"
In the middle of laughing, Jean abruptly fell silent and jerked out of the embrace. "Why did you get sad just now?"
Elaine's gaze dropped. "I suppose I should know by now that there's no keeping secrets from a telepath."
"I wasn't trying to read your mind. I just... sensed the shift in your emotions."
"No, no, I'm not accusing you of anything. I just... I realized that I'm gonna have to say goodbye to you sooner than I want to, and I should've been prepared for it by now, but I'm not."
Jean said nothing but cocked her head to the side.
"Your powers are here, and we're not equipped to help you with them. Not your parents, not your school. That means it's time to call the man that helped you in the hospital."
"What? Mom, no! I'll be fine! I just-"
"Jeanie, you've come home with a migraine every school day for the past two weeks. Your brain is evolving, and the last thing it needs is to filter through the minds of 500 strangers for nine hours a day."
Jean's gaze dropped. She didn't want to relocate, to start over. She liked her school. She liked her neighborhood. She liked her life how it was.
"Maybe..." Elaine started then trailed off.
"What?" Jean encouraged, holding back tears.
"Well, I'd have to talk it over with your father, but maybe we can move with you, to wherever Charles is located."
Jean's tears finally broke free. Elaine put her arm around Jean and pulled her close. She didn't need telepathy to know what her daughter was feeling; her maternal instinct ached all the same.
***
Hank tossed and turned in his sleep. His alarm clock announced in a callous, red glare that it was only two in the morning, but the fact failed to register properly as Hank oscillated on the verge of consciousness.
With no more warning than the sound of splintering wood, Hank's bed collapsed. The impact reverberated through the house and shocked Hank's parents awake. Hank's body awoke likewise, but his mind still vied for consciousness, only gaining awareness of the turmoil that besieged his startled body.
Norton bolted to Hank's room then caught himself in the doorway. "Hank?!"
The question pulled Hank's mind closer to the light, but Hank's only response was a pained groan.
Norton took a knee at Hank's bedside and put a hand on Hank's shoulder. "Hank?" he tried again, the panic in his voice replaced with sheer concern.
Hank fully awoke. "What? What's wrong, Da-" More groans interrupted his question.
Edna appeared in the doorway. "What's going on?"
"He's burning up," Norton explained.
"Let's get that blanket off him," Edna directed as she approached and grabbed the comforter. She and Norton disentangled their son from his bedding then gasped. Edna covered her mouth and staggered backwards as Norton stood up and turned on the light.
Hank continued to gradually enlarge as his entire musculature bulged and rippled. His body hair rapidly elongated and proliferated, eventually taking shape as a coat of fur. The hair on his head similarly grew longer and thicker. Moreover, the entirety of his hair formed an undulating gradient as black gave way to blue.
Norton and Edna stood staring, frozen silent in fear, as the creature lying in their son's bed resembled him less and less every second.