Pathogen, Ch. 2

"I'm home," Marnie called through the open kitchen door, barely hiding the cringe in her voice. As expected, sharp footsteps answered from up the hall, marching swiftly and with purpose toward Marnie's doom. Within a minute, her mom's stern face came into view.

"Maryanne Heather Nightingale, I thought we talked about-" The tall, athletic blonde stopped her tirade mid-sentence and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Julian. Clearly she wasn't expecting her daughter to bring a friend home, especially of the male persuasion. In an instant, her sharp, angular features rearranged into a pleasant smile and her tone softened considerably. "Oh... hello there," she said, smoothing a nonexistent loose hair back into her impossibly tight military-style bun. "Please forgive me for raising my voice. I had no idea we had company."

With a well-practiced, crisp heel turn, Marnie's mom about-faced toward the fridge. Ten seconds later, the counter was already covered with Tupperware containers and plastic wrapped dishes. "How about a snack? I'm sure you kids are hungry. What would you like, erm...?"

Julian's hand moved away from a ceramic corgi-shaped salt shaker on the counter like he'd been electrified, clearing his throat nervously. "Oh, uh, I'm Julian," he said quickly. "...and I'll eat anything. Thanks. You've got a lovely home, Mrs. Nightingale."

"Actually, it's Ms.," Ms. Nightingale corrected, a slight edge in her tone. "I haven't been married since Marnie was in diapers. Lieutenant is fine, too. But thank you. I've worked hard to build a good foundation for Marnie." She quickly mouthed "he's cute," at her daughter and winked, which made Marnie want to crawl in a hole and die.

"We'll pass on the food, Mom," she sighed, grabbing Julian's arm and dragging him toward the stairs. "I've got a big Chem test coming up, and Julian is only here to help me study. That's all."

"Oh? Okay then," Ms. Nightingale said, but she was still pulling containers out of the fridge. "I'll just bring something up for you two. Behave yourself now, Julian; that door better be open when I get up there! Otherwise, I'll show you how I got my badges for marksmanship!"

"Mo-om!!" Marnie groaned. All she got in response from Ms. Nightingale was a wicked chuckle. Maybe bringing Julian home wasn't as hot of an idea as she thought. At the very least, Marnie was deeply regretting it now... and so, it seemed, was Julian.

The poor boy's cappuccino-colored face was whiter than a sheet, his dark eyes wide with fright. "Um... she's not serious about that," he murmured. "...Is she?"

Marnie bit her lip, unsure what answer to give. Phoebe Nightingale wasn't just a good marksman; she was a sharpshooter in the army, and a highly decorated one at that. Her rank and skill were part of the reason why Marnie had lived the majority of her childhood out of moving boxes. Even now, the house they were renting was packed to the gills with them. It had been over two months at this point, but Marnie still had most of her stuff packed up. It seemed a waste, as she figured they'd just be packing up and moving again in a few weeks anyway.

Her lack of an answer seemed to worry Julian more, so she just turned toward the living room instead. "C'mon, Casanova," she muttered. "My mom's not gonna shoot you. I think."

All things considered, the "study-date-that-wasn't-actually-a-study-date" went pretty well after that. Marnie was able to brush up on her Chemistry knowledge quite a bit, and Julian didn't try to put any moves on her after Ms. Nightingale put the fear of God into him. Ms. Nightingale asked Julian if he wanted to stay for dinner, but he politely (and quickly) declined. After he raced out of the house like a bat out of Hell, Ms. Nightingale looked at her daughter with a knowing smile.

"He likes you," she mused, nudging her daughter's elbow as she joined Marnie on the couch. "...and he's well-mannered. I approve. When do I get to meet his parents?"

"Mom, puh-leez," Marnie groaned, running her hands through her coppery tresses in exasperation. "Let me be clear: he. is. just. a. friend. Nothing like that is ever gonna happen with him. So, don't start planning our wedding or anything. Okay?!"

"Okay, okay, fine," Ms. Nightingale murmured, throwing up her hands in defeat. After a short pause, her steely grey eyes fixed on Marnie's, all semblance of playfulness gone from them in a heartbeat. "Don't think I've forgotten about that call from Mr. Honeycutt today," she said. "I want a full report of what happened, in your words. And be honest with me."

Marnie sighed heavily, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Apparently, her clever ruse had only slowed her impending doom. "Nothing," she lied. "I just... didn't feel like solving the problem. That's all. Old Lady Snopes has it out for me. I swear!"

"Marnie, you know that isn't true," Ms. Nightingale said, her tone quiet and stern, but loving as well. "I've noticed your grades slipping lately, and that worries me. Are you sure there's not something else bothering you? Something you want to tell me about?"

Marnie kept her lip buttoned, focusing on a loose thread dangling from the cuff of her hoodie sleeve. She hoped her mom would drop the whole thing if she stayed quiet long enough. After a few minutes, Ms. Nightingale let out another weary sigh.

"Okay: you don't wanna talk, that's fine," she murmured. "If you change your mind, though, you know you can tell me anything. Right?" Instead of waiting for Marnie to answer - which would've been a waste, because Marnie wasn't going to - Ms. Nightingale kissed her daughter on the cheek and raked a lock of hair behind Marnie's ear. "I'm thinking Chinese for dinner. How's that sound?"

Marnie really wasn't hungry - mostly due to all the snacks her mom had already pushed on her and Julian - so she gave a halfhearted shrug. Barely a word passed between Marnie and her mother while they ate, which was normal to be honest. It was no secret that Marnie and Ms. Nightingale rarely saw eye to eye. The older Marnie got, the more they just seemed to drift apart. Not that Marnie really gave a damn.

Of course, Marnie loved her mom. That was a given. They weren't the type of mother/daughter duo who went shopping and got their nails done together though, or sat up all night to gossip about boys and braid each other's hair. The very idea of doing something like that with her mom seemed idiotic to Marnie. She didn't understand how other girls in her class handled it, having a mom who acted like a "bestie" all the time. It was nauseating beyond words; less "mothering" and more "smothering".

Marnie's mom never did anything like that. She respected Marnie's boundaries, and treated her like a parent was supposed to treat their child. Marnie wasn't her mom's best friend; she was a subordinate, and she did what any well-trained cadet was supposed to do. Well, most of the time.

After the dinner dishes were cleaned and put away, Ms. Nightingale allowed Marnie one hour of TV before bed. When Marnie turned on the tube, though, an emergency news bulletin was playing. Never one to enjoy the news, Marnie almost switched channels right away... until she recognized Thomas Jefferson High in the background of the shot.

Curious, Ms. Nightingale took a seat beside her daughter and scanned the crawling text moving across the bottom of the screen. "That's your school, isn't it?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer. "Turn it up, Kiddo. This looks serious."

Marnie did as she was told, just as intrigued and worried as she knew her mom was. The words coming out of the reporter's mouth were hard for Marnie to wrap her head around, though.

"...this afternoon marks the third in a bizarre string of hospitalizations in the greater Boston area in as many weeks. The unnamed victim - a student at Thomas Jefferson High - was rushed to the ER merely hours ago after falling ill due to yet unknown causes. The boy was unresponsive when paramedics arrived on scene at the school, and as of right now has yet to regain consciousness.

"The other two victims - a middle-aged man and an elderly woman - displayed identical symptoms to the boy before being hospitalized themselves. Their condition as of now has not been divulged, but Doctors and the authorities are working tirelessly at the moment to determine why these three otherwise healthy people fell so deathly ill in such a short amount of time. Until then, if you or someone you know possesses the following symptoms - nausea, fatigue, muscle weakness, slurred speech, high fever, delirium, and/or problems with equilibrium - please seek medical help immediately."

"Turn it off," Ms. Nightingale said suddenly, jarring Marnie out of her semi-hypnotized stupor. "Turn it off right now, and go to bed."

Marnie looked at her mother, confused. "Huh? But, you said I could-"

"You heard me, Maryanne," her mother snapped. Without warning, she snatched the remote from Marnie's hand and clicked the power button. "I don't want you to worry about that boy," she said, her tone a lot softer than before. "I'm sure he and those other people will be fine. Go on, now, scoot. I'll be up to tuck you in shortly."

Marnie had lived with her mother long enough to realize when trying to argue was moot. This was one of those times. With a defeated sigh, she stomped off to bed like the obedient little soldier she had been raised to be. As she lay in bed later that night, though, staring up at the dated popcorn ceiling, she couldn't help thinking about the report she'd heard.

"The boy who threw up at school today," she wondered. "...could that be the same one they were talking about? I just thought he ate the fish sticks by mistake at lunch. That would make anyone toss their cookies. He seemed fine in Snopes' class, though... so, what gives?"

Worrying about the boy who may or may not be the same kid the news mentioned was only giving Marnie a world-class headache. In order to get some shut eye, she forced the whole thing into a little box in the back of her mind, and didn't think about it again until morning.

Her mom had already left for work by the time Marnie got up. There was a Pop Tart waiting for her in the toaster, though, along with a meticulously packed lunch box and a note on the fridge. Marnie took the Pop Tart - burning the hell out of her mouth as she bit into it impatiently - but left the lunch box without a second thought. Knowing her mom, it was filled to the brim with things like carrot sticks, broccoli, apple slices, and other healthy shit like that. The way Marnie saw things, she'd rather fork over five bucks for a slice of cafeteria pizza than be caught dead with it.

When Marnie slid into her first period seat - barely beating the bell by ten seconds - her classmates were all congregated in the back of the room. Nervous buzzing echoed all around her, like they were afraid to speak too loudly. Something which never happened, as her first period class was always loud and rowdy. Marnie looked over her shoulder, trying to figure out what was going on, and realized everyone was crowded around one girl with dyed pink and blue box braids.

The poor girl - Brianna, Marnie thought, or maybe Bianca? - was absolutely sobbing her eyes out. That was definitely not the norm. She clutched something in both hands - a tear-stained letterman jacket - like it was the only thing keeping her alive, nuzzling the worn pleather and wool in between snuffles.

"I-I d-don't und-der-s-s-stand," she blubbered. "H-He... He was f-fine yesterday b-b-before lunch! How... H-How did this h-h-happen?! Trevor... M-My T-Trevvie Bear...!!"

Marnie glanced at one of her other classmates, hoping he'd clue her in on what was going on. The boy - tall, dark, and muscular - tugged at the collar of his own letterman jacket anxiously. "Trevor Kennedy," he whispered. "The guy who puked in the hall yesterday... he died this morning."