I, Mutant

I, Mutant Chapter Seven
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta…Finally! We have frost! InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: *gold star * Morgan: *tackleglomp * Readers/Reviewers: There’s more MP coming out tomorrow or the day after. Just thought I’d give a head’s up lol.


“My head hurts…”
“You still have to go to school,” his nanny sighed. “Go put on your sweater; it’s cold out and you can’t afford any more absences.”
He nodded and shuffled towards his room, rubbing his fingers idly over his forehead. It ached, like the time his friend Ricky had whacked him in the head with his toy truck. Maybe it was all those Pixie Sticks last night, he thought, tugging his sweater miserably over his head. “My sweater itches,” he called, scratching at his arms. “Like ants!”
“Your sweater can’t itch. It doesn’t have skin,” Nanny Roberts called back. “Now come on. Carpool will be here any minute!”
“Kay…” He shuffled out of his room, his feet seemingly refusing to lift off the ground. He plucked his sack lunch from Nanny Roberts’ hand, scooping up his backpack as he reached the front door. “Is… is dad gonna be home tonight?” He adjusted the straps of his pack without looking up at his nanny, the woman who had been with him since before he could remember. He sometimes confused her with his mother, in his memories, but he knew that his mother would have let him stay home today. And his mother would tuck him in at night. And remember his birthday. Nanny Roberts already said that little boys who failed math didn’t get birthday parties.

“Honey, come up to the front of the classroom!” Miss Nichols smiled so brightly at him that he was pretty sure her face was going to cramp up.
“Don’t wanna,” he muttered. He felt even worse than he had that morning, his head aching and his eyes watering with pain. He slid down lower in his seat, pushing the heels of his sneakers against the seat in front of him. “I’m sick.”
“Come on, sweetie!” she cajoled, reaching out to take his hand. “It’s your birthday! Don’t you want your present?” She tugged him out of the safety of his seat, leading him slowly towards the front of the room for the school tradition of cupcakes and odd teacher gifts like erasers and a pack of stickers for the birthday child. The class was making encouraging noises, even though most of them would not have crossed the street to put him out if he were on fire. “Your classmates sure want their cupcakes,” she added with a fake adult laugh.
He tripped over his own feet as Miss Nichols led him, wishing she would just stop, that they would all stop. He no sooner formulated the wish than she did stop, dead in her tracks. It was like she had turned to stone, her smile frozen, her foot raised in mid-step, her fingers still wrapped around his wrist. The class was frozen as well, faces contorted in mockery and laughter, hands extended with notes in the palms, a pencil rolling silently down the middle aisle of the classroom. He stood, eyes wide, his head not aching for one glorious minute. Then fear set in. “No,” he muttered, his voice thick in his throat, like clotted blood. “Stop…”

Nanny Roberts was waiting when he came home. The school had called, informing his father by way of the hired help that his son was no longer welcome in the hallowed halls of their establishment and maybe public school would be a better fit. Nanny Roberts was not amused. “Your father has company,” she snapped as soon as he stepped inside the front door. “Go to your room and think about what you did until he’s ready to see you.”
He shrugged, padding down the hall. His head still ached but not as badly as before. His face itched, though, like he had ant bites under his skin, and his throat just seemed to not work right. He couldn’t make words come like he wanted them to, so he decided to just be quiet, communicating through nods and smiles and shrugs as long as he could get away with it. He passed the door to his father’s office on the way to the stairs. Some man was in there with him, a big guy with huge hands and a rumble but nice voice. He imagined that the guy’s kids never worried about upsetting him, about how to tip toe past his office door without getting yelled at.
“Artie!”
He cringed. His father had seen him. Silently, he stuck his head around the door, not opening it any further than it already was.
“Come in. I want you to meet Doctor McCoy.” Doctor Maddicks stood, motioning to his son to fully enter the room. “Good lord, what’s all over your face?”
Artie shrugged. “Dunno,” he rasped. His headache was back in full force, his skin feeling stretched and burning.
Doctor McCoy bent low to peer at Artie, his face kind but concerned. “Are you allergic to anything, son?”
Artie shook his head. “No, sir…” His voice was barely audible. His lips parted to excuse himself from his father’s presence, Artie gasped. It was like a flash behind his eyes, a short and shining moment that showed him what this strange man was thinking. “Mu…mmmm…” Artie’s tongue wouldn’t untie. He frowned, looking up at his father’s friend balefully. For one second, he was sure he saw recognition or something like it on the man’s face, something that showed a kindred spirit, but it was gone.
“Go to your room, Artie,” his father sighed. “I don’t want you getting everyone sick…”

Artie lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. The bumps on his face stopped itching but they were obvious, painful in his psyche. He could hear the dull thuds and thumps rising from his father’s lab downstairs, the muffled sounds of men’s voices. The doctor, McCoy, had never left. Artie had celebrated his birthday with his army men, plastic witnesses to the dawn of his seventh year. His voice was gone entirely but that was okay. No one wanted to listen to him these days anyway. Silently, knowing he would not sleep, Artie slipped from the bed. The mirror over his dresser showed his shadowed self, the suddenly malformed boy who looked more monster than child. _Stop, _ he thought. _Please… _ His eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, and silence fell.