Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(68)
She concluded the dreams were probably just caused by the bad news that had been all over the television. The FBI director had been assassinated, and that agent in North Dakota. All the news reports blamed the two killings on Jack Gregory, but despite a considerable body of evidence to back it up, Heather didn’t believe it. For some reason the probability calculation in her head yielded only a 3.754 percent likelihood that Jack was the killer. After the way he had saved her life, the numbers would have to be a heck of a lot worse than that before she would believe it was Jack.
Sliding into her robe and slippers, Heather made her way down to the kitchen. Grabbing the can of Maxwell House from the cupboard, she spooned the coffee into the filter basket, poured in a container of water, and turned on the pot. Another oddity.
She had never liked coffee until three weeks ago, always making herself tea instead. The change had happened that morning after getting her first night’s sleep, the day after she began taking the antipsychotic drug risperidone. She had slept until 6:30 a.m. When she had walked down the stairs, the rich smell had been so enticing that she had asked her dad for a cup. That had been the first morning in a long while when she had sat at the breakfast table with her mom and dad, just enjoying their company. Something about that moment had etched a pleasurable association into her brain. Morning plus coffee equals comfort, or some nonsensical equation.
Without waiting for the pot to finish brewing, Heather poured herself a cup and returned the pot to its spot beneath the brewer. Sliding open the glass door that led out onto their back deck, Heather turned to look out to the east. The sun was just rising, the yellow brightness replacing the pink of sunrise. What a glorious day. She took it as a good omen for the first day of the new school year. After the summer she had endured, everything about school’s return filled her with anticipation.
Her reverie was interrupted by Mrs. McFarland’s arrival in the kitchen. By the time breakfast had come and gone, Heather found herself rushing to get through the shower and make her way over to the Smythe house. Mark and Jennifer were already downstairs waiting for her.
“You’re looking perky this morning,” Mark remarked, the worried look, with which he had been watching her the last few days, absent from his face.
“Thanks,” Heather replied, sliding onto the couch.
“Let’s just hope we’re all feeling that way after the first day of school tomorrow,” said Jennifer. “I’m not looking forward to the razzing we’re likely to get over that science project.”
“Look at it this way,” Mark said with a smile. “We’ve already been thoroughly hosed. Might as well grin and bear it.”
“Uh-huh,” his twin snorted,
“Is that a new backpack?” Heather asked, pointing at the brightly colored bag beside the door.
“Yeah. Dad picked it out. This will be its first and last usage.”
The look of disgust on Jennifer’s face made Heather laugh despite her best efforts to contain it.
“I don’t know,” said Mark. “I think the school colors thing you have going there shows good spirit. You just can’t get too much green and gold.”
Ignoring his sister’s scowl, Mark tossed a pamphlet in Heather’s lap.
“Have you taken a look at the student handbook?”
“Since when have you started reading the student handbook? How’d you even get one?”
“Mom picked it up at the PTA meeting. I thought it might be good for a few laughs.”
“So was it?”
“I think a couple of rules got added just because of our junior year.”
“Such as?”
“Well, for one thing, the school dances section expressly states that sophomores and freshmen are not permitted to attend junior-senior prom.”
Heather chuckled. “They had that rule last year. It was waived because our junior class didn’t raise enough money.”
“Yes, but this year they highlighted it in boldfaced letters. And get this part…No peeing in the hallway.”
Heather made a grab for the book, scanning rapidly down through its pages before she noticed the snicker.
“Mark!” Her foot just missed him as he dodged sideways. Fortunately, Jennifer landed a punch into his shoulder.
“Ouch.”
“What does it say about displaying your butt in public?” Jennifer asked.
“Okay, okay,” Mark said, holding up his hands in protest. “I was just trying to add a little levity. No use getting personal.”
Seeing his wink, Heather smiled. God it was good to have things back to normal.
72
The blackness in the room softened as it moved away from the corners. Faint hints of red illuminated the objects that occupied the space, the luminosity changing as the red numerals on the digital clock switched to a new time: 4:16 a.m.
This time of night was the quietest. Even the latest of night owls had already found a way home from whatever sport had kept them out and about. Before long, folks on the early shift would be making their way to relieve sleepy compatriots at the local mini-mart stores, but not yet.
Sitting up in his bed, his back propped up by a pile of pillows, Mark let his eyes roam freely. His night vision was improving with use, but then again, what wasn’t? Since that first time they had tried on the alien headsets on the starship, his entire brain and nervous system seemed to be constantly adjusting neural connections, always seeking optimization. Their last visit had accelerated the process.