By Jim Doran
Marjorie woke up strapped to a surgical table in an unfamiliar laboratory. One minute, she had been walking to her car alone, worried her life was going nowhere; the next, she’d fought for it as a pungent cloth covered her nose and mouth.
There were two others nearby awakening, strapped to similar gurneys.
Marjorie blinked, recognizing the woman on her left.
“Lindsay Stevens?”
“Yes. Who are you?”
“Marjorie Mayers,” Marjorie replied. “I haven’t seen you since the ten-year reunion.”
“Marjorie,” said the man on the third table. “It’s Dan. Dan Tiggens.”
It was Dan. They had all attended St. Triphana Boarding School and had chatted recently on the school’s Facebook page. Dan was a stand-up comic, and Lindsay had an Air Force career. They had done something with their lives whereas Marjorie only told her clients what they wanted to hear.
“What are we doing here?”
“We’re having our own reunion.”
The snarling, female voice originated near Lindsay. “A rather grim version.”
Marjorie didn’t see anyone else in the room. “Who’s there?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The voice’s source floated across the lab, and the unseen presence breathed in her ear. “I might get stern if you don’t remember me.”
“Gloria Stearnes.”
The name brought Marjorie back to the boarding school’s science fair, the ruined egg-shaped capsules, the confession in the back hallway, and Gloria’s furious glare before marching away.
“Where are you?”
“Invisible,” replied Gloria. “I’ve conquered the physical senses. I control them.”
Marjorie flinched when something unseen tapped her forehead.
“Stearnes, you’ve kidnapped us,” growled Dan. “You’re not getting away with this.”
“You mean like how you got away with ruining my science fair exhibit seventh year?” The disembodied voice lowered into a harsh impression of Dan’s comic catchphrase. “That was genius, idiot!”
Seventh year. We were young and stupid. I had wanted to help people so much at that age. I should have offered to help Gloria rebuild her experiment.
“Seriously, Gloria?” asked Lindsay. “You kidnapped us over a harmless prank we did ages ago?”
Marjorie stiffened. Kidnapping us fits her M. O. of a dramatic genius. With her intelligence, I’m not surprised she learned how to become invisible.
Lindsay began to choke.
Gloria asked, “You were saying? Speak up, Lindsay. I can’t hear you.”
Marjorie had to appeal to Gloria’s grandeur before it was too late. “You were a genius even when we were children.”
Lindsay stopped choking and took a deep breath.
Gloria spoke, now closer to Marjorie. “You destroyed something dear to me. Today, I’ll return the favor. Since you, Marjorie, were the only person who confessed, I’ll allow you to choose.”
“Choose what?”
“As I said, I’ve conquered the senses,” said Gloria. “You may choose which sense to remove from your classmates. Based on your answers, I’ll decide what I’ll remove from you. The harsher your judgment on them, the more clement choice for you.”
A scalpel rose into the air as Marjorie sucked in an unsteady breath. Lindsay and Dan protested.
Gloria screamed for quiet, then dropped to a sinister, quiet tone. “Choose, Marjorie.”
“Gloria, please. I’m a psychologist. I can help you, but you need to help yourself first. Let us go.”
“Wrong answer.” Gloria’s voice sliced like a skate across a layer of ice. “I’ll pick if you don’t.”
Marjorie gulped. Gloria wasn’t one of her privileged clients who only required reassurance. She might choose blindness.
Marjorie had to appeal to her, but in a way Gloria would respect. She had to appeal to her common sense.
Her common sense.
“I’m waiting.” A foot tapped beneath her table.
Marjorie’s mind flipped through answers, as with a word association game. “You win. I want you to remove Dan’s sense of humor.”
Dan quipped, “She’s already removed it.”
“You’re not funny,” snapped Gloria. “Marjorie, I told you to select one of the five physical senses.”
“No, you didn’t. For Lindsay…”
Marjorie had to think. Quickly. Lindsay was a soldier.
“…remove her sense of duty.”
“Stop this!” A clammy hand gripped Marjorie’s chin, and Gloria’s breathing was erratic. “For you, Marjorie, I need to take drastic measures. I will choose your sense. And trust me, it will be one of the five.”
Why hadn’t I helped her when we were young? I’ve never changed, taking people’s money instead of walking with them through their pain.
A needle hovered into view and stung her arm. Marjorie struggled to break free, but an overwhelming calm surrounded her. Everything went dark.
When Marjorie awoke, she was still on the table. This time, however, Dan and Lindsay were standing next to her. Dan was rubbing her hand and speaking to her. Lindsay was presenting her phone to Marjorie. Dan’s social media page displayed a racist joke he assumedly had posted. Lindsay thumbed the screen to show another image of herself burning a flag. The soldier spoke, perhaps the words, “not us.”
Marjorie heard nothing.
As if in a silent movie, Marjorie observed their mouths move and their bodies shuffle but without sound. “What? I can’t hear you.”
Her friends flinched, indicating she had yelled the words. She had been too loud.
Dan would never be able to make a joke in public again, and Linsday might be discharged, but Marjorie couldn’t worry about them. She had her own problems.
Gloria had removed Marjorie’s hearing.
Marjorie bit her lip. If Gloria could take away, she could give as well. The scientist had turned herself invisible and claimed to have conquered the senses. How hard could it be to restore her hearing?
I will adapt. I’ll learn sign language, perhaps starting a new career counseling the deaf. When I have the resources, I will locate Gloria Stearnes and confront her. I will help, not hurt, her.
Gloria may have taken away Marjorie’s hearing but had given her something in its place.
A sense of purpose.
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Clever premise, and great use of this month’s theme!
Thank you. It was fun to write.
Now that’s a supervillain for you right there! Great story!