New World Disorder

Chapter Four

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Pope's dreams were once more filled with a mixture of his original memories, Oran's memories, and his recent experiences flying and fighting with his new found powers. Eventually these dreams faded and for the first time since waking in the hospital he found himself seeping deeply. It was late Tuesday morning when Tetyana finally roused from his slumber.

"How are you feeling? Any headaches, nausea, or dizziness?" Her accent stirred something in Oran's adolescent loins. "Your mother sent me to check."

Pope took mental stock of his recent injuries.

He had often found himself in hospitals or sickbeds both when he was a fearless, if accident prone, teen and during his military career. Over time he had developed a ritual he used to test his condition. Starting at his feet, he tested each major joint, moving them carefully to see if there were any strains, sprains, or breaks. The movement would usually pull any cuts or burns enough to let him know of the presence of the injuries. He ended with one hand testing his head and the other his groin. Saving the two most important bits for last.

Going through the ritual silently, Pope was amazed to find no pain. He knew he had taken a couple of serious blows during the fight with Amok. But he found no evidence of his cracked ribs or bruised back. "Wow! Those doc's must have been really good. I feel great."

The Russian maid stopped him when he started to spring from the bed. "Take it easy," she said. "You are on a lot of pain meds so you probably can't feel anything."

Pope was familiar with the vaguely queasy, light-headed feeling that indicated serious narcotics. There was nothing like that this time. Instead he found himself clear-headed for the first time in days. Deciding not to argue the point, he said, "No sign of nausea, in fact I'm pretty hungry."

She put her hand on his forehead then on each cheek, while looking deeply into his eyes. "Alright. I'll make your something light. Your mother is in her office. You should see her first."

Pope decided to go talk to his mom and let her know he was feeling fine. Wait! What did I just say...my mom? He stopped, looking in the mirror over the bathroom sink. The face of the young man staring out was much more familiar than the last couple of day's exposure would explain.

He examined his thoughts. Somehow Oran's memories had integrated with his own. He could tell the difference, but he no longer automatically thought of his teen body as a different person or of his family as Oran's mother and step-father. He was still Sam Pope, but in some very odd way he was also Oran Bry, or at least what was left of him.

If I am going to be stuck here then I think this may be a good thing, he decided. I need to start thinking in the local language, so to speak. If I'm going to play the role of Oran, I really need to get into character or I'm going to start messing up. I have had it easy so far as I've only had to interact with Mom, Tetyana, and Jock, and not all that much with them. That's going to change any day now. So...I'm Oran and this is my house and family. This is my life.

He nodded to himself in the mirror and finished his morning ritual. It was different without having to shave. His cheeks were smooth without a trace of whiskers or pimples. He noticed that even his mouth tasted clean, before he had brushed his teeth. "That's not normal ..." he muttered. Oran's ... his memories showed that it was normal for Oran, even before the accident. He had no whiskers, acne, body odor, or bacterial bad breath. Garlic bread still left him stinky. But nothing bacterial. Something going on there, he thought. Mutant body chemistry?

Eventually he finished dressing and met his mother in her office. She was dressed in business casual and video conferencing with someone Oran only vaguely recognized as a charity contact. "Please check on that and get back to me. DEMA never meets all the needs, especially for the homeless. I've got to go. I have another meeting. Take care."