Chapter 3

[This is insane. This is so, so insane. The man who orchestrated this is Senator Thompson. He didn' t directly poison Ben, but he created the circumstances. Ben' s heart condition was a pre-existing vulnerability, a secret he kept from the Bureau to stay in the field. Thompson' s hit squad, the stress, the blood loss-it all pushed him over the edge. It' s an indirect assassination attempt, and Thompson probably doesn' t even know how close he came. He just wanted Ben dead, one way or another.]

Ben' s face was turning a ghastly shade of gray. His eyes were closed, his breathing almost non-existent.

"Damn it, Ava, talk to me!" Dad yelled, his hands hovering over Ben' s chest, unsure what to do. "What do you mean, use the battery?"

Liam was already fumbling with the back of the heavy-duty tablet. "How, Ava? How do I do this?"

[Okay, focus. I need to walk them through it. There should be two main leads to the lithium-ion power cell. If they can expose the positive and negative terminals, I can tell them where to place them. It' s like a controlled electrocution. God, I hope this works. I' ve seen this in a movie once. Or maybe it was a TV show. It' s all a blur of medical jargon and dramatic tension.]

"Pry the casing off the back!" I shouted, my voice steadier than I felt. "You' ll see a black block, the battery. There are two wires coming off it, a red and a black one. Strip the ends of them, now!"

Liam, his hands surprisingly steady, used his pocket knife to do exactly as I said. He worked with a desperate speed, exposing a few inches of copper wire.

Ben let out a final, shuddering breath and then went still.

"He' s not breathing!" Dad yelled, his voice cracking with panic.

"Now, Dad!" I commanded. "Liam, give him the wires! Dad, put the red one on the left side of his chest, just below the pectoral muscle. Put the black one on his right side, just under the armpit. Press down hard!"

Dad followed my instructions without hesitation. He trusted me completely.

"Everyone stand back!" I yelled.

[Okay, Ben. Don' t die on me. You still owe me a reward. And a burger. Think of the burgers, Ben.]

I focused all my energy on the tablet, on the battery. I didn' t know how, but I could feel the energy stored inside it, a buzzing, electric power. I visualized the safety protocols, the tiny digital locks preventing a power surge, and in my mind, I smashed them. I imagined a single, powerful jolt of electricity flowing through the wires.

The tablet in Liam' s hands sparked, and Ben' s body arched violently off the bed with a loud crack. For a horrifying second, he was completely rigid, and then he collapsed back down, limp.

Silence.

Nothing.

"It didn' t work," Liam whispered, his face ashen.

Dad immediately started chest compressions, careful of the gunshot wound. "Come on, son. Come on!"

[No. It has to work. The rhythm is still wrong. It' s chaotic. One more time. A smaller jolt. A regulating one. I need to be more precise.]

"Do it again!" I screamed. "But this time, I' ll tell you exactly when!"

Dad stopped compressions and placed the wires back on Ben' s chest. I closed my eyes, listening past my own frantic thoughts, past my dad' s and Liam' s fear. I listened for the faint, chaotic flutter of Ben' s heart. There it was, a desperate, dying bird. I waited for the peak of the aberrant rhythm.

"Now!"

Liam, who was holding the tablet, somehow seemed to understand. He didn't do anything physical, but the tablet sparked again, a much smaller, sharper crackle this time. Ben' s body gave a smaller twitch.

A moment passed. Then another.

And then, a cough. A deep, racking cough that brought a flicker of life back into his face. His eyes shot open, and he gasped for air, his heart now beating in a steady, if weak, rhythm.

We all collapsed in relief. Dad sagged against the bed. Liam dropped the smoking tablet onto the floor. I just sat there, my body trembling, feeling completely drained.

[I can fix his heart. The congenital defect. It' s a malformation of the mitral valve. I know how to fix it. I have the knowledge, the surgical procedure, everything, right here in my head. But I need tools. A proper operating theater. Surgical-grade polymers. Things you don' t find in a cabin in the woods. I' m stuck in this stupid, low-tech timeline. At least give me a 3D printer and some sterile scalpels.]

Ben looked at me, his eyes full of a new kind of awe. He had been on the edge of death, and he knew it. "You... you saved my life. Again."

"Don' t mention it," I mumbled, suddenly feeling shy.

[I mean, you can mention it. To your bosses. When they' re handing out that reward money. A big, fat check would be nice. I could finally move out. Get my own place. Maybe a small apartment in the city. No, a house. With a yard. For a dog. A golden retriever. I' ll name him 'Nugget.' ]

"Whatever you need," Ben said, as if he' d heard my silent financial planning. "To fix this," he gestured to his chest, "and to stop Thompson. I' ll get it for you. The FBI has resources. Black sites. Off-the-books medical facilities. You name it, I' ll get it. Just help me stay alive and see this through."

My eyes widened. An off-the-books FBI medical facility? That was even better than a regular hospital.

[Ooh, a black site. Does that mean secret gadgets? I bet they have secret gadgets. And probably a really good cafeteria. I could make a list. A new heart valve for Ben, first priority. Then, a lifetime supply of government-funded cheesecake. And maybe a pony. No, a pony is too much. The dog will be fine.]

"I' ll write down a list of the medical supplies and equipment I need," I said, my voice suddenly all business. "The procedure to fix your heart is complex, but I can guide a surgeon through it. Or... I could do it myself if I have the right setup. I can have you back in the field in a month. Maybe six weeks."

Dr. Reed, who had finally made it back across the now-repaired bridge, arrived to check on Ben. She looked at the makeshift defibrillator, at Ben' s stabilized EKG on her portable monitor, and then at me with a look of utter bewilderment.

"How did you know to do this? This specific voltage, the placement... it' s a one-in-a-million shot that this would work and not just cook him from the inside out."

I just shrugged. "Lucky guess?"

Ben handed her a piece of paper I' d scribbled on. It was a detailed plan for his cardiac surgery, complete with diagrams of the valve reconstruction and a list of necessary biopolymers.

Dr. Reed' s eyes nearly popped out of her head. "This... this is revolutionary. This technique... it' s at least ten years ahead of anything I' ve ever seen. Where did you learn this, Ava?"

[From the University of Google and the Medical School of Binge-Watching. Duh. Also, the weird alien encyclopedia that got beamed into my brain when I was a kid. I try not to think about that part too much. It gives me a headache.]

Before I could answer, Ben cleared his throat. "Dr. Reed, that information is classified. We need your help to procure these items quietly. Can you do that?"

She looked from the paper to me, then back to Ben. "With this procedure, you could save thousands of lives. Of course, I' ll help." She then turned to me, her eyes gleaming with scientific curiosity. "I must speak with you, Miss Miller. Your knowledge could change the world."

"She' s busy," Ben said, cutting her off. He knew, just as I did, that the last thing I wanted was the attention of the entire medical community.

Dr. Reed looked disappointed but nodded. As she walked past me to get her bag, she stumbled slightly, her face flushing with embarrassment.

[Oh my god, is that Dr. Reed? I had such a crush on her in high school. She was the prettiest girl in our class. I wonder if she remembers me. I should ask her out. Wait, no, that' s unprofessional. But maybe after this is all over? God, I hope I don' t say something stupid.]

It wasn' t my thought. It was Liam' s. He was staring at Dr. Reed with a dopey, lovesick expression. Dr. Reed froze, her blush deepening. She had heard him.

Ben coughed to cover a laugh. "It' s a side effect. Of her ability. Sometimes... thoughts get sticky. They jump from person to person if they' re in close proximity to her. It' s usually temporary."

I buried my face in my hands. My life was a circus. A non-stop, ridiculous circus of psychic gossip and secondhand embarrassment.

"I need to lie down," I grumbled, pushing myself up from the chair. I trudged towards my bedroom, my mind still buzzing.

[Okay, so, first things first. Get Ben to his secret FBI hospital. Fix his heart. Collect my massive reward. Buy a dog. Then, use my newfound freedom to expose a corrupt senator and save the nation from financial collapse. And after all that, I am taking a very, very long nap.]

The work of a hero was never done. And it was always, always interrupting my sleep schedule.