Max, I forbid you to take out the chip. The Voice sounded uncharacteristically stern.
Yeah, forbid me, I thought tiredly. That's always worked so well for everyone else.
"First, I'm going to give you some Valium, just to help you relax," said Dr. Martinez, starting an IV in my nonchip arm. "I'm also going to take a chest X-ray and do some blood work, just to make sure you're not sick or anything."
Because of my less-than-socially-accepted bizarro childhood at the hands of evil scientists, I have an overwhelming reaction to science lab-type smells, like alcohol, plastic tubing, floor cleaner, etc. When Dr. Martinez put the IV in, I had to grip the sides of the table to keep myself from leaping up and racing out of there, preferably punching a couple people first.
My heart was pounding, my breath coming shallower, and I could feel the white lightning of adrenaline starting to seep into my veins.
You know what? Turns out Valium just shuts that stuff right down!
"This is great," I said with cheerful grogginess. "I feel so...calm."
"You're okay, Max," said Ella, patting my shoulder.
"You still want to do this?" Fang asked. "Bark once for yes."
I stuck my tongue out at him. With any luck at all, whatever grotesque thing would probably replace the Erasers wouldn't be able to track us once the chip was out. And maybe the Voice would be gone forever too. I wasn't positive the chip was connected to the Voice, but it seemed likely. Even though the Voice had been kind of helpful sometimes, I still wanted everyone out of my head except me.
Which is such a pathetic sentence, one that probably not a lot of people need to say.
Then Dr. Martinez stretched out my chipped arm and fastened it to the table.
30
Instinctively I started to panic when Dr. Martinez strapped my arm down, and then the panic just melted away, la la la.
Someone took my other hand. Fang. I felt his calluses, his bones, his strength.
"I'm so glad you're here," I slurred, smiling dopily up at him. I took in his startled, worried expression but dismissed it. "I know everything's fine if you're here."
I thought I saw his cheeks flush, but I wasn't too sure of anything anymore. I felt a couple of needle pricks in my arm, and said mildly, "Hey."
"That's just a local anesthetic," explained Dr. Martinez. "I'll give it a minute to take effect."
"Oh, look, the lights are so pretty," I said dreamily, having just noticed them.
I smiled at the way the lights were dancing overhead, pink and yellow and blue. I felt some pressure on my arm and thought, I should look over and see what's going on, but then the thought was gone, sliding away like Jell-O off a hot car hood.
"Fang?"
"Yeah. I'm here."
I struggled to focus on him. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Yeah, I got that."
"I don't know what I'd do without you." I peered up at him, trying to see past the too-bright lights.
"You'd be fine," he muttered.
"No," I said, suddenly struck by how unfine I would be. "I would be totally unfine. Totally." It seemed very urgent that he understand this.
Again I felt some tugging on my arm, and I really wondered what that was about. Was Ella's mom going to start this procedure any time soon?
"It's okay. Just relax." He sounded stiff and nervous. "Just...relax. Don't try to talk."
"I don't want my chip anymore," I explained groggily, then frowned. "Actually, I never wanted that chip."
"Okay," said Fang. "We're taking it out."
"I just want you to hold my hand."
"I am holding your hand."
"Oh. I knew that." I drifted off for a few minutes, barely aware of anything, but feeling Fang's hand still in mine.
"Do you have a La-Z-Boy somewhere?" I roused myself to ask, every word an effort.
"Um, no," said Ella's voice, somewhere behind my head.
"I think I would like a La-Z-Boy," I mused, letting my eyes drift shut again. "Fang, don't go anywhere."
"I won't. I'm here."
"Okay. I need you here. Don't leave me."
"I won't."
"Fang, Fang, Fang," I murmured, overwhelmed with emotion. "I love you. I love you sooo much." I tried to hold out my arms to show how much, but I couldn't move them.
"Oh, jeez," Fang said, sounding strangled.
"Okay, we're done," said Dr. Martinez finally. "The chip is out. I'm going to unfasten your arm, Max, and then I want you to wiggle your fingers."
"Okay." I wiggled the fingers that Fang was still holding.
"The other ones," he said.
"Okay." I wiggled those fingers.
"Go ahead and move them, Max," said Dr. Martinez.
"I am moving them," I said, moving them more.
"Oh," said Dr. Martinez. "Oh, no."
31
So there you have it, folks. The most humiliating admission I could possibly even conceive of, plus the loss of my left hand, all in one day. I mean, the hand was still there, but it was dangling limply. More decorative than anything else at this point.
Just like my pride.
Every time the hazy memory of my saying goofily, "I love you sooo much" popped into my head, I shuddered all over again. That one experience guaranteed that I will never, ever get hooked on Valium or anything like it.
Dr. Martinez was incredibly upset about my hand. She was in tears afterward and kept apologizing.
"Hey, I made you do it," I told her.
"You didn't make me. I shouldn't have tried it." She looked crushed.
"No matter what, I'm glad it's gone," I said. "I'm really glad it's gone."
The next day I was Voice-free and starting to learn to do everything with only my right hand. It was a total pain in the butt, but I was getting better. Again and again I tried to move the fingers on my left hand, and again and again I got not a twitch or a tingle. My arm ached, though.
Again and again I felt Fang's night sky eyes on me, to the point where I was about to climb the wall. When Dr. Martinez and Ella were outside for a moment, I cornered him.
"What I said yesterday didn't mean anything!" I hissed. "I love everyone in the flock! Plus, it was the Valium talking!"
An unbearable smug look came over his usually impassive face. "Uh-huh. You just keep telling yourself that. You looove me."
I took a swing at him, but he jumped back nimbly, and all I did was jar my left arm, making it hurt.
He laughed at me, then pointed at the woods outside the window. "Pick a tree. I'll go carve our initials in it."
Barely suppressing a shriek of rage, I flung myself down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.
My superacute raptor hearing couldn't help registering his chuckles outside. Holding my head in my right hand, I muttered, "God help me."
Too late for that, Max, said the Voice. Only you can help yourself now.
Oh, no.
The Voice was not connected to the chip. It was still inside my head.
Which made today's totaclass="underline"
1) Useless left hand
2) Fang believing some mushy emotion I didn't even mean
3) Voice still with us
Given these revolting developments, there was only one thing to do. Leaving my bandaged left arm outside the shower curtain, I sat in the tub with the water pouring down on my head and cried.
32
"I don't think you should leave until your arm heals," said Dr. Martinez, looking worried. "I'm saying that as a doctor, Max."
"We've been gone too long as it is," I said. "Besides, with our zippy recombinant healing powers, I should be fine, in, oh, about twenty minutes."
She knew I was exaggerating, but she also knew me well enough to know that little things like healing up and common sense don't usually affect my decisions.