Page 66 of Starrily
He covered her hand with his. “I know. I … excluding the car crash, I’ve never been ill. I’ve just realized I hate hospitals. Or, in this case, the labs.”
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
Simon glanced at the room. “I’ll do it,” he said. “But at least tell me I can keep my phone.”
Callie might have been emboldened by her idea, but there was nothing joyous or gratifying in watching Simon waste away hishours in the tiny white room. She didn’t want to go in there and risk disturbing the readings—the experiment had to be done properly and be perfectly controlled.
And she hated it. Simon had a bit of entertainment from his phone and was regularly delivered food, so he wasn’t being driven mad in a white room, but it still felt wrong—an antithesis to everything he was. Contained in his little sardine can when he should be free to enjoy life.
She took breaks to check up on him, and every day, as she finished work, she came down to talk to him.
“There she is, my lovely jailer,” he said on the third day as she entered the lab. He rose from the mattress and walked to the window. He spread his fingers on the glass. “Hey. Let’s pretend I caught a deadly virus, and you’re here to cure me.”
“That’s not—don’t even say that.”
“It’s gonna be fine. They always heal them in the movies.”
She let out a half-desperate laugh and matched her fingers to his, separated only by an inch of glass.
“I believe in you, Phoenix,” he said. “Would you like to hear a poem I’ve been composing? Mind you, it’s the first one I’ve ever written, and I don’t think I have any talent with poetry, but three days in a white room makes a man do strange th—” His hand lowered from the glass as he staggered.
“Simon?” She pressed her nose to the glass to see what was happening.
“My foot.” He hobbled toward the center of the room. As he came fully into view, his left foot was gone—invisible—from ankle downwards. Simon carefully sat and lowered the leg until only the visible part was seen above the white linoleum floor.
Callie gasped and jumped back.
“The camera’s got it, right?” Simon yelled.
“Yup. Yes, we have it!” She ran to the control room, as Simon added—probably to himself—“Whoa, that’s a tricky balancing act.”
Camera feed.Callie looked at it hungrily, inspecting Simon’s signature. It was the usual mix of red and yellow, as expected from seeing body heat on an infrared camera.
“Is it still happening?” she yelled into the hallway.
“Yes!”
She looked at the camera again. No difference in his foot. No shifting of light. She dragged herself back to the window.
“Now it’s gone.” Simon gingerly tested the foot first, then stepped on it. “And?”
“No change.”
“Maybe you missed it.”
“It’s a live feed. I would’ve seen it.”
“Then what?”
“Nothing.” She banged her forehead on the glass. “I’m stupid. Why did I think this was the solution? You’re not a star—”
“Thanks for crushing my dreams.”
“—and you’re not a mutant.”
“Sadly,” Simon said with a tilt of his mouth. “It’s all right, Phoenix.”
But it wasn’t. His condition still existed—and from the data, it was getting more frequent. Worse.
