The Variant Effect: PAINKILLER Read Online Free PDF Page A

the fellow recapped the table
talk. He waxed poetic about his kids on skates, and early mornings
on the ice.
    Sounded like hell to Borland but...
    The hockey dad’s companion, the rough-trade
woman was convinced; but it was a selfish interest. Somehow she
took the hockey dad’s nostalgic dream and twisted it to talk about
her Shomberg Clinic roommate.
    “She had a bad day.” Rough-trade nodded. “She
wants to go home but the doctors won’t let her—so she wants to go
even more.”
    “She had a reaction to the painkillers, you
said?” asked Hockey Dad, giving Borland a concerned half-nod.
    “Yeah, and now she’ll only use an ice pack,”
Rough-trade replied, “for the pain.”
    A waiter sped by the table and dropped a
small plate in front of each of them as he passed. Borland started
shoveling the meager portion of rigatoni and Caesar salad into his
face—then paused when he caught the startled looks of his
tablemates.
    He was hungry.
    Borland kept his skinned right hand hidden
from the other diners. It was easy to miss at a distance but
obvious up close so he hid it when forced into company. The
scarring overrode whatever social manners social media and
isolation had left, so he held his fork in his left hand, and
bunched his napkin up over his scarred palm with the rest of the
material draped over his knuckles.
    He didn’t want to go into it, and he didn’t
always want the responsibility that came with being a Variant Squad
Captain.
    “No wonder she’s having trouble,” Hockey Dad
continued. “Not using painkillers is crazy.”
    “She’s tough. Used to be a cop,” said
Rough-trade proudly. “ Shush —here she comes.”
    And Borland reflexively shared their hunched,
guilty postures as they turned to watch a tall, well-muscled woman
with caramel blonde hair approach.
    Borland remembered seeing her on his way back
from the accounting office. Pretty woman, she’d caught his eye
through the big bay window in the patient lounge. He’d stepped out
onto the balcony to watch as she relaxed by the ‘contemplation’
pond.
    Her golden skin had caught his eye.
    The woman had pulled her sheer black pant
legs up over her knees to expose long clean calves and thighs to
the sun—before leaning back, letting her sharp profile cut the
fresh air.
    The woman was very pretty in a bitchy sort of
way. She had lovely loose features that hormones or disappointment
could easily tighten to petty, mean and selfish.
    Borland remembered her.
    As she approached the table, he appreciated
her long legs again—and he especially liked the way she pressed the
bright blue ice pack over her abdomen, accentuating the flare of
her hips.
    She shot a hesitant smile at Borland, quickly
looked away, and took the empty seat between him and
Rough-trade.
    “What are they serving?” the woman
whispered.
    “Chicken,” Rough-trade reassured brusquely.
“And you can’t eat chicken can you?”
    The strange woman dipped her head and glanced
at Borland as he almost cracked a tooth on a whole-wheat roll.
    She can’t eat chicken. So what?
    A young black man, one of a group of kids
doing the serving, hurtled near and the strange woman stopped
him.
    “I can’t eat chicken,” she stated, both hands
raised.
    The young man stared. He had a tray of
dinners balanced over his shoulder.
    “So I need the vegetarian menu.” The woman
pushed her explanation forward.
    “I got to ask them in the kitchen,” the young
man said, delivering his tray of orders to the next table before
spinning back through the kitchen door.
    “She can’t eat chicken,” Rough-trade
repeated.
    “Is she vegetarian?” asked Hockey Dad, like
the strange woman wasn’t sitting just the other side of
Borland.
    The woman piped up, “Not a vegetarian...but I
can eat fish.”
    “Fish isn’t good for vegetarians is it?”
Hockey Dad pressed her.
    “It’s the only thing they serve that’s worth
eating,” Rough-trade clarified as the strange woman nodded, sharing
a silent