The Variables

He ran his hands over her warm, encouraging words and smiled. His mother could tell him to try to speak and he’d feel such anger boiling up against her. Lucy could come and sit next to him and pine to be redeemed, shed tears of fear and hurt and remorse, and he felt like he was beyond protecting her. But Cass could say whatever she wanted and he felt like she had his best interests at heart.

Closing his eyes, he rested his head back against his pillow and tried to imagine what he should try to say. What words did he need to say?

He thought: I’m angry. Or just simply...why?

Outside his door, he heard a thud, and then seconds later a muffled shriek. It was barely audible, like he could have imagined it, but then he heard low voices, deep and rambling and another thunk against the wall. The sound reverberated toward him.

He turned his head to listen. His mind went instantly to Cass and before he was even fully aware of what he thought he heard, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed his crutches. Moving with swiftness, despite his aching body, he rushed out into the hallway beyond his hospital room. It was the first time he had stepped foot outside. The chair beside his door where a guard sat keeping watch was empty.

When he sca

Ethan tore down the hallway, his crutches moving forward and back, propelling him along him as he approached. The boys, too engrossed in their attack, didn’t even see or hear him coming. Three feet from the fray, Ethan slowed and grabbed the crutch acting for his amputated leg. Balancing and hopping on a single foot, he swung the crutch and watched as it grabbed the back of the young man’s head with a crack.

He lost his balance and tumbled into the wall. The boy closest to him turned, and from the ground Ethan swung again, crashing the wood into his face. Blood gushed from the boy’s nose and he collapsed to his knees on the ground.

With one boy down, Cass grabbed the second by the shoulders and kneed him in the groin. He doubled over for a brief second before taking off ru

“So, this is Ethan King,” the boy growled, blood covering his teeth and filling his mouth. “Think you’re a big shot messing around with Cass? Asshole.” His nose dripped down onto Ethan’s shirt, the blood flowing freely. He had clearly broken his nose. Before he could say anything else, his head lurched forward and he tumbled off of Ethan and fell to the ground, his body limp.

Ethan looked up and saw Cass standing there—her shirt torn and falling down around her waist, her skirt ripped, her hair disheveled—and she was holding the crutch out in front of her. Her chest heaved as she breathed rapidly.

“Are you hurt?” she asked Ethan.

He shook his head and sat up.

“Oh, God,” she said and she slumped down to the floor and began to cry. Ethan crawled past the boy’s body and went to her. Immediately, she crawled up into his arms and let him hold her.

The guard appeared lazily at the other end. It took him a second before he processed the scene. As he surveyed the disaster at his post and rushed forward, he grabbed for his walkie-talkie.

“Send backup to the hospital wing. There’s been an incident,” the guard said. He crouched down and felt the boy’s neck for a pulse. “Three injured in some kind of fight,” he added. The man looked to Ethan. “What happened here?” He had knelt in blood. “Jesus Christ.”

Cass pulled herself away from Ethan and started to talk, but couldn’t quite find the strength to form the story coherently. “They...just...from nowhere...” Her hands were shaking violently; every muscle in her body quaked.

“Calm down, Miss Salvant. We’ll get medical here. Can I help you up?” the guard asked. “Mr. King...are you injured? I’ll get your doctors to come and help you back into—”

“No,” Ethan said. His voice was swampy; it caught in his throat. He cleared his throat and coughed, and then tried again. “No...no...”

“Ethan?” Cass said and she put a hand against his cheek. Her own cheeks were stained with tears. “Oh, Ethan...”

“I’m sorry,” he said, barely getting the words to form. “Not fast enough. I’m so sorry. Not fast...enough.” He leaned his head against the wall and wrapped his hand around Cass’s hand. He felt a tear slide down and he wiped it away quickly. “So, so, so sorry.” Down the hall he heard the commotion of more guards and doctors rushing to the scene, but all he could do was think of Cass, and the men who had hurt her, and how much faster he could have gotten to her if he still had both legs.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“I need petri dish number four in the fridge,” Scott told Grant as he stood over the inverted microscope underneath his laminar flow hood, examining a glass slide with focused intensity. Grant hopped down off of the metal bed in the corner of the lab and walked over to Scott’s refrigerator. It was the grossest collection of specimens Grant had ever seen: tissue and organ samples, jars of floating liquid, vials tipping precariously in wooden holders, and an expired Greek yogurt container—which Scott said was unequivocally not his, although he couldn’t account for its appearance.