“I’m afraid you can’t call your parents from my cubox. Would you like to see what it does?” The doctor held the black box in his hand and circled my head with it. A small flame ignited from the smooth surface. “Blow out the flame, please.”
“It’s a lighter?” I blew it out.
A 3-D image of my head, light brown curly hair, splay of tan freckles, dark gray eyes, perfect down to the pink pimple on my chin, popped from the box like some strange second head.
“I’ve never seen anything like it before. Are we at a tech company or something?” My explanation made sense since all the wealthiest people I could think of owned large technology companies.
The doctor ignored my question and touched the image with his thumb and index fingers together. He separated them, and my second face shifted and became a magnified copy of the rather nasty zit. “I don’t like how that looks. The temperature of your skin around the blemish is half a degree warmer than the rest of your chin.”
Embarrassed, my hand covered my jaw. “It’s nothing. Just being a teenager.”
“If you get your BFV shot, it will clear that up.”
“What?” I asked in shock. I’d never heard of getting a shot to get rid of a zit. “That’s overkill.”
“Normally, I would agree, but your medical records indicate you haven’t had the BFV. Now, the BFV would take care of the blemish, along with contractible diseases, bacterium, viruses… well, you know the ailments that plague mankind.”
“Magic cure-all?”
He nodded. “For most, yes. Never again would you have a cold.”
I crossed my arms and gave a huff. “That is impossible. No shot can do all of that, and you can’t inoculate against the common cold. We had a whole unit on diseases in biology.”
With a sad smile, he shook his head. “I’m afraid you are a long way from high school biology. You’ll find many things in this world you deem impossible are, in fact, very possible and real.”
My projected head blinked at me. He had a point. I doubted I’d be dissecting a worm here.
“Would you like the shot?”
“Any side effects?” I asked. Such a complex vaccine must have some gnarly side effects. “I mean, if something seems too good to be true, it usually is. And I’m not sure my parents would be happy about me getting a shot without discussing it with them first, thank you,” I said.
“None, not even a fever. As far as your parents go, true, I haven’t met them, but this shot is a miracle. I’ve given it to all my children and grandchildren.”
“A miracle? If I get this, could I get one for my family and best friend?” I asked.
Doc smiled. “I’ll see what I can do. So, is that a yes?”
I nodded and pushed up my sleeve.
Doc opened his coat pocket and removed a silver case. Inside was a small syringe. I inhaled and closed my eyes, waiting for the prick of the needle into my arm. But it never came.
I opened my eyes. “Everything okay?”
“It’s a little pink, but you’ll survive,” Doc said.
A small pink bump bloomed on my arm but then withered to nothing. “I didn’t even feel it.”
“No one feels the BFV. It’s been perfected over the last fifty years.” Doc pulled my sleeve back in place.
“Fifty years? Why haven’t I ever heard of it? Is it a rich thing?”
“You could say that,” he said, and he put the silver case back in his pocket.
“You said you have my medical chart? So, you know I broke my left arm in kindergarten, had my tonsils out in the third grade, and I am allergic to penicillin, amoxicillin, ampicillin, basically any cillin?” I ran my fingers in the chair’s grooved carvings.
“You won’t need antibiotics anymore. Now, to more pressing matters. You asked about the Merrics. This concerns me.” Doc sat in the other chair.
“Well, my uncle isn’t exactly forthcoming. Is it the people he works for? Is the company Merric?”
Doc sat back and thought for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to tell me something but changed his mind. He turned his head, perplexed on how to answer me. Looking around the room, he zeroed in on the bookshelf. He pulled out a volume and leafed through the pages. “Did your grandmother ever tell you about her early twenties?”
“Sure, I mean, not everyone’s grandma was a folk singer. She opened for the Grateful Dead once. We have her record. Folksy, pretty, but bordering on hippie.”
“Hippie. Hmm. That is new.” Doc handed me the book. Embossed on the spine was the number 242. “I have worked for the Merrics for many decades. My first patient was an exquisite outsider much like you. Turn to page 29, please.”
“What does this have to do with me?” On the page was a painting of a beautiful woman standing before a throne. Her eyes were stormy gray. The caption below said Helena Merric. “Grandma?”
Chapter 7
Tripp to the Unknown
“Helena Merric? Her maiden name was Tripps.” My eyes darted from the name and picture and back again. It was her; no doubt in my mind. “Her married name was Tripps-Gunner.”
Doc shook his head and took his glasses from his pocket. “Turn the page,” he said.
Grandma again, this time wearing a crown and standing before a large crowd of people kneeling to her. My heart stopped. Grandma was a princess. “Doc?”
“Your family has been the royal family of America since they started the country in 1589.”
“No.” I held my head in my hands and the book teetered on my knees, threatening to fall to the floor. “Our forefathers started the country in 1776, and there is no royal family.” Our forefathers had fought very hard to make sure there was no royal family and yet here was Grandma in her crown.
Doc’s knees clicked as he crouched
