Chapter Two: Outside

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Sunlight streamed in through the window of the small bedroom and onto the pillow where a teenage girl was resting her head. Linnea lay on her bed, staring up at the blank white ceiling and trying to ignore her pounding headache. Her migraines had increased in frequency lately, just in time for the beginning of school. Which she was dreading incidentally. School was a hellish place for her and always had been, though that probably had something to do with how often she switched schools. Her parents were world famous scientists and had very high standards for the kind of education their daughter should receive. Last year, it had been a private catholic school, the year before that it had been a boarding school on the other side of the city. If there was one thing she had learned from all of it, it was that kids never liked newcomers, especially intelligent ones. 

A click in the hallway alerted her that someone was coming and she stood swiftly, not wanting her parents to know about her headache. It wasn't that they weren't kind about it, it was just that...she didn't tell them anything if she couldn't help it. They were very analytical people, and as such, they treated her like a colleague or a peer or even sometimes and interesting specimen. There was no real love, no feeling, nothing that made her feel as though she belonged with them. But then, Linnea had never felt she belonged anywhere. She had gotten used to the feeling. Her parents often worried that she wasn't well adjusted, but Linnea knew her perspective wasn't the cliche. It was simply a result of having been moved around so much, having been displaced. Nothing was permanent for her.
The door opened slowly and Linnea noticed her mother's red nails gripping the door frame. She had been hoping for her father. Linnea loved both of her parents, but Cassandra and she had never gotten on very well. There were too many personality conflicts. The most recent fight had been over schools. Linnea glared sulkily as the door swung open.
"What? Have you come to announce another move?"
She wasn't angry, not really, but she half hoped that her feelings would come into the equation this time. She wasn't particularly happy at the school she was at now, but at least it was something familiar.

Cassandra smiled. She had had another surgery, Linnea realized with a start. Her mother seemed determined to keep her face as young as possible.She had plastic surgery at least once a month. Her eyes were enlarged, her lips were plumped, her cheekbones were enhanced, and her brow was lifted. All the surgery combined with her blunt haircut had always unnerved Linnea slightly. She had grown up with Cassandra's extreme features, so she was quite used to them, but she was still a little frightened after each surgery.
"Another brow lift?"
Her mother smiled a little
"Yes to both questions."
Linnea's face hardened.
"Right. Where am I going now?"
She folded her arms across her chest and gave her mother a level stare. Cassandra sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Come sit, sweety. Come on."
Linnea held her ground for about another second, then sighed and crawled over to sit next to her mother.
"I just hate all the moving. I mean, I don't fit in anywhere."
"And you think that will change if we keep you in the school you have now?"
Linnea digested that. The truth was, she would never fit in anywhere, no matter whether she was new or not. She was silent for a few seconds and her mother gave her a little squeeze.
"You're a bright kid, Lin. People don't like bright kids, especially teachers. You knew more about physics than any of your science teachers last year. Do you think you got the education you needed?"
"No."
"Then can you blame us? We just want what's best for you, kiddo."
She checked her watch and sighed.
"I have to be at the lab. Trust me, this one will be better."
The door had shut behind her before Linnea realized that they had had virtually the same conversation last year. She reached for the small white bottle next to her bed and popped an advil into her mouth before lying back down on the bed.

  The next day, she found herself standing in front of the Oakshire Academy. It was her first public school since kindergarten. The building itself was entirely unremarkable, but she still felt a familiar wave of intimidation as she looked around the schoolyard. She had the cliques down to a science by now. The jocks were on the basketball court shooting baskets, the preps were standing on the edge of the court watching, the tough girls were sitting under an alcove near the bleachers passing around a flask, the ordinaries were milling around in small groups, and there were one or two losers standing around trying quite clearly to disappear. The latter was the demographic Linnea usually slipped into after a couple of days. This school wasn't going to be any different, she could already tell. With a sigh of resignation, she followed her shadow through the front doors of Oakshire Academy.

 The hallways were almost completely empty as Linnea made her way to her classroom. The bell hadn't rung yet and most students were still in the front yard. She preferred to already be in the classroom when the crowds began to form; it was less difficult that way. The teacher was sitting at her desk at the front of the classroom. Linnea approached her; wading through the maze of desks in order to ask where she should sit. The woman was young, about twenty five or thirty, with brown hair and twinkling blue eyes. She smiled at Linnea and reached for the attendance.
"Hi, you must be the new student. I'm your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Scriven."
"Um. It's nice to meet you."
It wasn't really. Mrs. Scriven was the kind of woman who tried to hard, the kind of teacher that was convinced she knew you inside and out after a year of teaching you. Linnea forced a half smile onto her face.
"You can take a seat wherever you like, I don't assign seats until I have an idea of the classroom dynamic."
This was the worst news Linnea had heard all day. This meant that she would have to choose a seat herself, something that could make her a target right away. If the teacher assigned seats, nobody could blame her for being there, but choosing the wrong seat was something she could and would be blamed for. Turning, she surveyed her options much like a mouse would survey a house full of traps.

The left side of the classroom was empty; a bad sign. If she sat there, she would be noticed right away just by default. The right side contained a few students who had chosen to show up early. Sitting at the first desk was one of the losers. Marked by his suit, striped tie, glasses, and first row seat, he was one of the most obvious traps she could fall into. Standing just behind him was a prep. She was gesturing animatedly and chatting on a cell phone in a loud, nasal voice. Linnea didn't spend much time looking at her; if she was caught staring at one of the untouchables, she was dead. At the very back of the classroom sat one of the tough girls. She was reading a book, always a good sign. She probably had friends, and was therefore not a bad person to be associated with, but she was also not likely to talk much, which was another plus.

Linnea made her way to the back of the classroom and sat down beside her. The girl gave no indication of noticing her, which was just fine. Linnea didn't want to be noticed. The bell rang with a long, shrill note that pounded in her ears. With some dread, Linnea began to experience the beginnings of another headache as the teacher started the lesson. This class was science, and Mrs. Scriven wasted no time getting into the lesson. She began with an introduction that was, as Linnea had guessed, ridiculously kind and almost annoying. The beginning of her lecture on physics wasn't as disappointing as Linnea had thought it would be, but she still found herself drifting into a daydream. The rest of the class didn't seem to be paying attention either, so she felt no guilt whatsoever in drifting off. The girl next to her snapped her book shut.
"I'm Misery, what's your name?"
Linnea gave a start and glanced at the teacher, who pretended not to notice the outbreak of whispering in the classroom. Is her name really Misery?
"Linnea."
There was silence as the two stared at each other. Misery had tanned skin and dark, piercing eyes. Her brown hair was cut in a mohawk and her eyes were outlined with thick black shadow. Linnea had never seen anyone quite like her. Searching for something to say, she nodded towards the book on the desk.
"Anna Karenina?"
She nodded.
"One of my favorites."
"Me too."
"You've read it?"
"Of course."
"Wow. Most of the numskulls here haven't even read a fucking Dickens, let alone Tolstoy."
Linnea smiled a little and glanced around the classroom.
"Nice to meet you."
Misery smiled as the bell rang.
"I'll talk to you later, I'm going to go get high now."

Linnea chose to forgo the crowded cafeteria, and, since it was a nice day, chose to eat on a bench next to the bleachers. She sighed slightly. So far, this school hadn't been as bad as the others. Perhaps it was because she had known what to expect, or maybe it was the fact that she already had a sort of friend. Misery wasn't exactly the kind of person Linnea's parents encouraged association with, but she was nice and educated which was an apparent rarity in Oakshire. She had finished her lunch and was wondering what to do with herself when two boys came around the corner of the school. One of them was dribbling a basketball, and the other was lagging a little behind. She heard snippets of their conversation.
"C'mon, what did the kid do to you?"
"He just existed, you know what I mean?"
"No."
"Lighten up! It's not like I punched him or anything. A little shoving never hurt anybody."
"It marked him a target, James. Somebody to pick on. Now everybody else is going to be beating him up."
He lowered his voice so Linnea could no longer eavesdrop. She examined a penny on the ground and managed to catch the odd word.
"Mom....wouldn't want....not....funeral..."
"Shut up about mom, okay? She's...."
"Yeah, well.....don't.....just stop."
They stopped talking abruptly as the blond one spotted Linnea.

"Hey look! A new face"
The brown haired one looked slightly uncomfortable, but he followed the other over to the bench where Linnea sat. The blond one sat down next to her grinning. He was attractive in a jocky sort of way, with brown eyes and lightly tanned skin, but there was something unnerving about his face and his mannerisms. He was vaguely...predatory.
"Allow me and my brother to welcome you to our school. I'm James, and this is Charlie."
Linnea looked from one to the other.
"Um...hi."
"So, gorgeous, how did you come to this humble establishment?"
He started to put an arm around her shoulders. She reacted instinctively, inching away and putting her hands up to warn him off. It wasn't so much that she minded being hit on, he was just slightly creepy.
"Oh, come on, loosen up. I won't bite."
But the look in his eyes as he said it chilled her, sending a cold shiver up and down her spine.
"I uh...I kind of have a boyfriend."
"So? Doesn't mean you can't have some fun, right?"
Linnea was definitely scared now. She glanced around, wondering how stupid it would be to run.

"Leave her alone."
Charlie glared at his brother.
"Why, Charlie, do you want her?"
"I'm just dead tired of you bothering everyone. Go find your girlfriend why don't you?"
James rolled his eyes, but he seemed to have some level of respect for his brother because he stood and wandered off towards the basketball court. Charlie glanced at her. He looked a lot like James, but his face lacked the predatorial feeling and his eyes were a lighter brown.
"Sorry about him. He doesn't really know where to stop."
Linnea's headache had tripled in strength over the past hour or so, causing a desire to be left alone.
"That's okay."
Her head gave a nasty throb and she winced slightly, putting her fingers to her temples. This was getting bad. The pain was increasing quickly, until she thought that someone had surely taken an axe to her face. Charlie gave her an odd look.
"You all right?"
Linnea couldn't speak any longer, her vision was too blurry.
"I..."

The pain was blinding. She was scared now, wishing she had told her parents when the migraines had started instead of just ignoring them. She felt Charlie sit beside her on the bench.
"Hey, what's going on? Do I need to call an ambulance or something?"
She felt a hand on her shoulder, but couldn't focus on anything except trying not to pass out. Then, as fast as it had come, the pain ebbed, leaving her trembling and slightly nauseous. Charlie was looking at her worriedly as she raised her head.
"I'm fine...I just had....That was weird."
He was still staring at her.
"Um. You should probably go home now, or to a hospital or something."
"No, no hospital. I'm fine now. It was just a headache."
"Just a headache that made you look like you were being tortured...riiiight."
She glanced at him.
"Yeah, I guess I should go home."
"Do you want me to walk you? I don't want you passing out in the street or something."
"No, I'm okay. Thanks though."

She made it about three feet, then stopped and swayed as a dizziness washed over her. Charlie stood up.
"All right that's it, I'm walking you home. Where do you live?"
"No. I'm fine. Seriously."
She wasn't sure why she didn't want him anywhere near her house, but maybe it had something to do with how famous her parents were....for being massive nerds. It wasn't that THEY were known as nerds; they were widely respected in and out of the scientific community. It was just that if people knew they were Linnea's parents, she would be marked as a nerd by default. And from what she had seen of Charlie, he was relatively popular. He ignored her protests though, and followed her like a well trained dog as she headed for Main Street.

They didn't speak as they followed the familiar route to Linnea's house. She saw surprise on his face as they crossed over  the west side; the upper class district. He whistled when he saw her house.
"Wow. And I was worried about you."
She laughed a little and mounted the porch steps.
"It's not my fault."
After ringing the doorbell, she turned to Charlie. Perhaps she could get him to leave before her parents showed up. It would take them some time to get out of their safety gear: they were always in the lab around this time on weekdays.
"Thanks for walking me home...You should probably get back to school now."
"Oh, yeah."
He hesitated.
"Your parents are home, right?"
"Yes. They always take a while to answer."
As she was speaking the door swung open. Oh no.

 In ten minutes, Cassandra and Steven had settled their daughter on the sofa. Charlie stood awkwardly in the doorway. With a meaningful look from Cassandra, Steven turned to him.
"Thank you for bringing her home. She gets these headaches sometimes. It's quite worrying."
Charlie nodded. It was always weird talking to parents, especially since he didn't really know Linnea.
"No problem."
Steven glanced at Cassandra, who nodded. She disappeared into the kitchen as Steven invited Charlie in for coffee.

Charlie followed Steven into a large dining room.
"So, young man, are you happy at Oakshire?"
"Um, yeah, I guess. I mean the English curriculum kind of sucks, but."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well, they haven't even touched on Shakespeare yet, which I would understand if they had good modern literature instead, but they really don't."
"I see. And what do you consider good modern literature?"
"Well I really liked A Clockwork Orange. I guess that's not really modern any more, but I also enjoyed The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime...I suppose that's directed to a younger demographic. Then there's The Red Queen and The Plot Against America."
"Wow. I'm impressed; you're very well red for someone your age."
Charlie smiled, finding himself relaxing slightly under the older man's benign gaze. Of course, he couldn't have known that it wasn't benign in the slightest.
"Thank you sir. I've always been the brains in my family."

At that moment, Cassandra walked in, placing a tray of coffee on the table.
"I assume you don't drink coffee, Charlie, so I made you some hot chocolate."
She smiled briefly at her husband and exited the room.
"Thanks so much."
He raised the cup to his lips, wondering how long he was expected to stay and chat with these people. Kind as they were, the woman's oddly perfect face gave him the creeps and he had to get back to school.

Charlie was about to excuse himself when, without warning, a dizzy feeling swept over him. He had barely enough time to register the strange taste in his mouth before everything went black. Steven watched his head hit the table and gave a satisfied sigh.
"Cassandra! You're sure he won't remember?"
"Positive. I used number five point three, just to make sure."
"Good. What do we do with him."
He heard the clack of Cassandra's heels in the hallway and stood to greet her as she entered the room.
"I'm afraid we have to give him back. There's no time for strange disappearances. Not when the project is at this stage."
Steven nodded.
"All right. Should we leave him in a night club? Or the street?"
Cassandra smiled.
"Oh, I think a club. He's a big boy, he'll find his way home...even with a hangover."
She smirked.
"Then we'll deal with the girl."

Half an hour later, Charlie had been deposited near a club about ten minutes away from the school and Steven and Cassandra were downstairs in their lab. Linnea lay on an operating table, with lights trained on her and her body pumped with drugs. Cassandra watched, smiling slightly, as Steven set up the monitors.
"All right, now what are we fixing?"
"I think number two is haywiring. That's what's causing the headaches."
"I told you we put it in too soon."
"No we didn't. If we had waited any longer, her brain would have matured too much. We needed to do it when we did. We just didn't space the surgeries well enough."
"True as that may be, we're taking too many risks. We don't want her dead, remember?"
Cassandra laughed.
"Oh, calm down. She's fine. A little pain never killed anyone. Are we going to start repairs or not?"

Linnea lay still, eyelids fluttering weakly as her mother lovingly fingered her surgical instruments.
"Are you ready, sweetheart?"
Steven stepped back. Operations were Cassandra's specialty, he was responsible for the technology.
"She's ready. Her vitals are fine, heart rate and blood pressure normal."
Cassandra glanced at the monitors, inserted an IV, and reached for the first knife. Neither of them remembered the crucial component they had forgotten.