Walter fidgeted with only slight impatience as he waited for Raynes for finish writing his notes. His anticipation of the researcher’s report made it difficult for him to remain still, and yet he did not want to disturb the man. Instead, he looked around the interior of the office, glancing over the spines of the books that filled the shelves and the labels on the narrow boxes that probably contained scientific journals. Most were long and complex titles; some even appeared to be in languages other than English. Walter wondered whether Raynes had actually read them all or had simply collected them there because it was something in his position should do.
Tapping the end of his pen rapidly against his pad, Raynes gazed thoughtfully at the printout. His expression was something like a frown, but also that of a man faced with an intriguing, but potentially enjoyable, mystery. He put the printout aside and looked up at Walter.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, giving him an easy smile. “I imagine this is one of the last places you want to be tonight.”
Walter gave Raynes a weak and grudging smile of his own. It was true, but there were also a lot of places he would not have wanted to be. That the amiable researcher might have some answers for him was more than motivation enough to have returned to the campus, though.
Raynes gave a soft chuckle of understanding and then studied Walter for a long moment. He appeared to be gathering his thoughts, deciding how to explain to Walter the results of his tests. Walter discovered that he was only mildly anxious, finding himself to be more curious than concerned.
Leaning back in his chair, Raynes rested his elbows on the armrests of the chair and raised his hands, enlacing the fingers together so that his forearms formed an inverted “V” over his stomach. He continued to study Walter for a moment before speaking.
“Let me start by telling you that you were right,” he said. “Something did happen to you during that lightning strike—something that altered your body in way that was very difficult to detect.” He paused, musing on some thought. “Okay, perhaps not to detect,” he acknowledged, knowing what had brought Walter to him in the first place, “but certainly to discover.”
Walter waited for researcher to continue. He felt as though he was attending some kind of fundamental physics class, but not understanding a word of what was being said. In truth, Raynes words all made sense; he just did not seem to be actually explaining anything.
“Homo electricus,” Raynes announced casually, as if that explained everything.
Walter shook his head slightly, gesturing with his hands that he did not understand. Raynes chuckled again, a bit more deeply this time.
“An electric eel,” he explained with good-natured patience. “Electrophorus electricus. Or, in your case, an electric man: Homo electricus.”
Walter understood now, but he was not particularly amused. Raynes appeared to sense this and his expression grew more serious.
“It appears, Walter,” he went on, “that your body has adapted in such a way that it can now store electricity. When prompted with the proper stimulus, it can discharge it.”
Although the researcher had lapsed into what sounded like scientific jargon, Walter thought he understood what Raynes had said. It was not a particularly profound conclusion, as he had been living with it for more than two years now. He determined that the most effective way to get the answers he wanted was through direct questions. If he sounded foolish and ignorant, so be it.
“Do you know what caused it?”
“The lightning strike,” Raynes replied, almost playfully.
Walter fixed him with a glare.
Raynes raised his hands defensively in mock surrender. “Not exactly,” he admitted.
Walter sagged in his chair.
The researcher gave him a sympathetic look. “Don’t look so sad,” he said. “It’s just that my equipment isn’t designed for that,” he explained. “I can measure the effects, but not necessarily tell you the cause.” He leaned forward and whispered loudly, “And I really don’t think you want me cutting you open to find out. That’s more Dr. Zan’s department.”
Walter cringed inwardly. Zan was purportedly a highly respected research scientist in the field of adaptive biology. Whatever his reputation might be among his colleagues, he was known among the undergraduate population as “Zan Zero” for his reputation of returning test scores with that value.
Raynes flashed Walter a comforting smile. “Let me make a few calls,” he said. “I’m sure I can arrange something.” His smile dimmed slightly. “But it will have to wait until after the holidays, I’m afraid,” he said.
Breathing a small, almost inaudible sigh, Walter nodded slowly. That was really not much of a surprise, and Raynes had already done far more than he had needed to.
“I do understand, Walter,” Raynes offered gently. “But there’s probably only three of us left on campus right now anyway,” he went on. “You, me, and the poor wretch waiting for us to leave so he can finish emptying the last of the garbage cans.”
Walter managed a meager smile at the small joke. “What do I do until then?”
Raynes’ expression grew thoughtful again. “From what I can tell—from what you’ve told me and this,” he said, tapping the pen on the stack of printouts, “it appears that your body slowly builds up a charge, like a trickle charge on a battery, until it reaches a certain threshold. At that point, the built-up energy has to get out—sometimes violently.” He thrust open his hands, his fingers outstretched, to demonstrate. “I suspect that’s what happened in the hospital lab.”
“Why didn’t it happen here?”
Smiling with a certain air of smugness, Raynes winked at Walter and replied, “Because I’m more careful.”
Evidently, Walter thought, the researcher found himself ceaselessly amusing. Walter kept his opinion to himself.
Raynes stared off in distant thought for several moments. “I’ll bet,” he finally said, his eyes looking over the wall behind Walter at nothing in particular, “that before you would find ways to discharge yourself here and there, probably without even knowing it.”
It was Walter’s turn to become thoughtful. He could recall any specific incidents when that might have happened, but, as Raynes had said, he might not have noticed. At least not until lately, which is what had forced him to finally seek out help.
Raynes’ finger tapped the air. “How long have you been wearing the gloves?”
Walter looked down at his hands. It had been for the last several weeks, after . . . and then his mind reached the same conclusion that Raynes had. The researcher saw the realization come to Walter.
“It’s been even worse since then, hasn’t it?” he asked, although already confident in the answer.
Walter’s eyes widened as he considered it. The effects had been worse since he had started wearing the gloves all of the time. He had thought it had just been force growing stronger. While that might also be true . . . the solution now seemed so simple and obvious.
“By wearing the gloves,” he reasoned aloud, “they insulated me, keeping the charge from getting out, so it built even faster.”
“Exactly,” Raynes agreed, displaying some of the confident pride he might show a prize student.
“So what do I do?”
“For now,” Raynes responded cautiously, “be careful. From what I can tell from these,” he tapped the printouts again, “you can build up a fairly formidable charge.” He nodded slowly, his expression becoming almost grave. “You could hurt someone, I think,” he said, “particularly if they have a pacemaker or something like that.”
Walter thought about that and the upcoming holidays and the endless family gatherings. As far as he knew, the only member of his family who had such a device was his uncle Richard, but he was far away in Oklahoma. Still, getting an unexpected zap from him would probably not do his grandmother or great-aunt Ethel any good either.
“Don’t give up,” Raynes told Walter earnestly. “We’ll figure something out.” He made another one of those gestures with his hands. “Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in some sort of Faraday cage.”
Puzzled lines formed wrinkles on Walter’s forehead. He felt a cold knot in his stomach. Cage? The pictures that his brain conjured up were not at all pleasant. In his mind’s eye, he saw sudden flashes of disreputable carnivals and freaks put on display.
Raynes let out another soft chuckle. Walter found nothing at all amusing in those mental images.
The researcher started to indicate a shape with his hands by holding them up in parallel about ten inches apart. He then shifted them into new positions, and then once more before giving up. Walter had a sense that the researcher now itched for a chalkboard, but he instead just leaned forward to explain.
“It’s an enclosure created out of some kind of conducting material. It’s designed to block out external electric fields,” Raynes explained. “Or, in your case, keep them contained.” His gaze lost focus again and he made quiet, thoughtful sounds.
Walter shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Nothing in the researcher’s explanation had helped to ease his renewed fears.
Raynes’ eyes regained their clarity and, for a moment, he seemed surprised to find Walter there. He gave Walter a quick, mildly embarrassed smile.
“Well,” he said, rising from the chair. “That’s definitely something to think about.”
Walter quickly came to the conclusion that he and Raynes were no longer following the same lines of thought.
Raynes came out from behind the desk. “We will find an answer, Walter,” he affirmed sincerely. He offered his hand to the young man. Walter accepted it after a moment. “Have a happy holiday break.”
Their hands parted and Walter reached for his jacket. It was evident that the meeting, as generally useless as it had been, was over. Raynes’ voice surprised him.
“I understand that you’ll be taking my Advanced Electromagnetics course in the Spring.”
Walter froze. His mind frantically ran through his class schedule for the next term, knowing that Raynes had to be mistaken. He was not ready for Advanced anything in his required science courses. The momentary paralysis left him and he turned to stare somewhat blankly at Raynes.
The researcher met his gaze with the hint of mischievous smile on his lips. After a moment, Walter got it. If they were going to work to solve this problem together, and with any reasonable possibility of not arousing suspicions, then he would need to officially become one of Raynes’ students. The prospect only added to Walter’s growing list of worries, but he saw no better solution. He sighed, not caring whether Raynes saw it or not, and gathered his coat.
“Good night, Walter,” Raynes said with a quiet cheer.
Walter headed for the door.
“And Walter?” Raynes called out evenly.
Walter paused. But, as rude as it might seem, he did not turn around.
“Lose the gloves.”
Walter fought back a quiet laugh. And, with a smile on his lips, he headed down the corridor.
