Heroes

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

I woke up in a pile of my own vomit minutes later. Turns out, I hadn't swallowed it. Mum was collecting her tears by scrubbing at her cheeks and Dad was sitting me up, an arm around my back, and Robinson was wiping at my face and chin with tissues. Heat burned at my cheeks as they flushed with colour. I pushed myself out of Dad's hold feeling stupid and moved myself away from the vomit. It was still on my shirt. I gaged at the site and quickly Dad was helping me pull it over my heat. My twiggy stomach was bare and yet still I was scolding.

"I'm sorry," I muttered running my hands through my sweat soaked hair. "I didn't mean to do that."

"Nonsense," insisted Robinson. "You have nothing to apologise for."

"I've just puked all over your lab," I groaned. "I think I do."

"All you have done is make my job ten times easier by offering me a first hand look at your talents," laughed Robinson. "And don't you worry about the lab. There's been much worse things on the floor of this place. It's nothing that a bit of disinfectant won't solve."

I wasn't sure about his use of the words easier, talents or worse, but I didn't see any good in arguing so I let Dad help from up from the chair and followed Robinson over to his computer where he was already typing rampantly at the keys.

"I'm just making a few notes and then we'll talk some more," he said. "Are you feeling alright? We can stop for today, if you would like. Water perhaps?"

I shook my head accepted Dad's over jacket, sliding my arms through the sleeves. It was a little big, but anything was better than a naked chest.

"It's alright, I feel fine now."

"I want you to tell me everything," Robinson began after hearing I was good to go, "and I mean everything, that you witness happen as you went through that, right up until the moment you blanked out. You think you think you can do that for me?"

I nodded and I did. I told him everything I saw, right down the eyelashes and the dust and the hairs on Dad's arms. All Robinson did was nod encouragingly, adding supportive fillers, ums and ahs, where he felt necessary, and then when I was done Robinson leaned back in his chair and he grinned.

"Interesting," he murmured, "very very interesting."

"What do you think?" Dad asked stiffly. "Have you seen anything like it before?"

"Yes and no," he mused. "I have a theory, but I won't be able to confirm it until we do some further testing."

"Do you think he's actually doing it then?" Mum asked hesitantly. "Slowing time, I mean?"

"No, he's not slowing time. He's speeding it up. Well, of sorts."

There was silence as my entire family stared at him, sure now that he really was a crack pot.

"I think he's brain is working at excess speeds," he tried to explain. "That time only seems to be moving slower for him, being his brain is observing the world around him so quickly."

"That doesn't make sense," I thought aloud. "If that was the case, surely I'd be able to move my body as quickly as my mind."

"Not necessarily," said Robinson. "It's almost as if only certain parts of your brain are working so quickly, or perhaps it's working so quickly that your body can't keep up. Like I said, it's a mere theory for now, tests will help us to understand the full works of it all."

I sat still for a moment trying to make sense of it all. It did make sense. I mean, it was ridiculous and convoluted and there were countless flaws to his idea, and yet it made more sense than any of the other theories people had been spurting at me for years. And for once, it was a theory that said there wasn't something wrong with me. I wasn't deformed or flawed, my brain was working over time, not faulty. So maybe it malfunctioned a little, but it was over performance, not stupidity that was causing me to blank. I was happier, if a little nervous, when we left the lab that day.