Chapter 25

This story is fiction. Actually, the year being 2063 should have been enough to clue you in about that.

I don't care how old are. I don't care how young you are. However, the law does care, so if you are too young, go away (or at least try not to get caught).

If this story is against the law where you live, then like the young folk, go away. Or at least...

St. Luke Presbyterian Hospital

5:00 P.M. Monday, December 24, 2063

It was two days later, and I was finally going to get to see Lisa. About the accident itself I knew very little: Lisa had been inside a storage shed, looking for something, when some idiot had crashed his car over a curb, over the lawn, through a chain-link fence, and right through the shed before coasting another twenty-five metres or so and hitting a tall tree. The shed had collapsed, with Lisa inside it. Lisa had been rushed into surgery, and it was only now that anybody except immediate family was being allowed to see her. I was a bit surprised to hear that she had requested me by name, before she was even off of the healing accelerants. Now I found myself speaking with one of the most tactless doctors (and his equally blunt assistant) I'd ever met in my life.

"I heard that her left eye was hurt," I asked the doctor, "is there any chance of saving it? And how did this happen? Was it some drugged-up joyrider? He must've been going pretty fast to do that kind of damage."

"There's no 'saving' that eye, Mr. Michaels," Dr. Spring told me, "there wasn't enough left to salvage, even for parts donation. And Miss Lagrange is a donor."

"As for who did it," the physician's assistant told me, "That's the strange thing. It was a Mr. Adam Genkins, a math teacher at your school. And yes, he had several intoxicants in his system, including alcohol and d, z, methamphetamine14."

I felt my heart freeze, and I guess it showed in my face, because the PA took a step back from me.

"Where's Genkins?" The voice didn't sound like mine, even to me.

"You don't have to concern yourself with him, sir," the doctor assured me, "the crash killed him."

"Good."

"I'm not going to tell you not to be upset, Mr. Michaels," the doctor started, "because you have every right to be. But that young girl needs your smile, not your rage. Got it?"

I took a deep breath. The doctor was right, of course. Besides, there was no point raging against a dead man. I hoped he was burning in Hell, but Lisa needed me as her coach and friend, not some vengeful angry guy.

"Give me five minutes," I told them, "and I'll be the man she knows from class."

Five minutes later, I walked into Lisa's room, a smile on my face.

"So how's my sexy schoolgirl do..." My voice caught. Lisa wore no gown, and there were no sheets or blankets over her. Except for the bandage around her head, covering the left eye, and her slippers, she was as nude as in class. Her face was bruised, and the hair had been shaved back a bit near the left eye. There were also several fading bruises on her little body, and the lines of cuts, though mostly healed away, were still visible. Her barely-there pubic hair was gone, shaved away, and I could see why, as a short line of staples extended along her crotch, right next to the vagina itself. The entire area was bruised, almost to her knee on the left.

I recovered a bit and, smiling again, shook my finger at her in mock sternness. "Young lady, you don't have any clothes on!"

The giggle was the same one I had gotten to know over the past few months. "I wanted to be naked for you," she said, "like in class."

She was a dedicated student, with good grades in every class. This seemed to be taking things a bit far, but in truth, I was touched by the gesture.

"I wouldn't've thought that you were up to dressing and undressing yourself already."

"Oh, I'm not," she said, "I had one of the nurses do it for me. He's pretty hot."

I chuckled. Back in September, she would never have asked a man she'd just met, nurse or not, to undress her, no matter how 'hot' he was. Sure, she would've submitted herself to any medically necessary disrobing, but she would've hated it, and she sure wouldn't have suggested it herself.

"Well," I said, "you seem to be healing up. Glad to see that your sense of hot is intact."

"Yeah. I could swear it was Genkins, Coach. Nobody will say anything about the guy who hit me, but it sure looked like his car."

"It was him, Lisa," I assured her, "Dr. Spring told me just before I came in to see you."

She turned her head a little, and fixed me with that one eye. "You seem kind of mad about it."

I took another deep breath. "Yes, Lisa, I am mad. I can't help it, really. This guy has been a danger for years, and now he nearly kills one of my girls. Damn straight I'm mad."

She furrowed her brow, then laid her head back down and closed her eye. She bit her lower lip before looking at me again. "Coach, you're not thinking of... doing something to Genkins, are you?"

The thought of buying a shovel and a gun briefly crossed my mind, but I shoved it aside.

"I'd be lying, sweetie, if I told you I hadn't thought of it, but that wouldn't help you get better. I like to think of myself as one of the good guys, so I don't always do what my first instinct tells me to do. Besides, as a coach, I have to set an example."

A small grin. "You're saying all the right words, Coach, but your tone tells me that you're still thinking about it."