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[b]A GROWING PROBLEM – PART II[/b]

“… Francis? Francis, can you hear me?”

Francis Marshall awakens to the sight of his mentor, Dr. Lawler, standing over him. Francis’ mind is hazy. It takes him a moment to orient himself. As his vision clears, Francis is also greeted by the sweet fragrance of flowers. [i]The greenhouse,[/i] he thinks to himself. [i]I’m still in the greenhouse.[/i] Groggily, Francis props himself up off the ground. The back of his head is throbbing, and his memory is foggy.

“Francis, what happened?” Dr. Lawler asks, concerned. “Why were you on the floor?”

Francis furrows his brow. “I… I don’t remember,” he admits. He scours his mind for an answer, even a clue, but his memory yields nothing. He must’ve fallen and hit his head. If he suffered a concussion, it might explain the memory loss. Of course, it would also beg the question of just how long he was unconscious…

Dr. Lawler kneels down to his student’s level. “You can’t remember anything?”

Francis shakes his head.

“Francis, this is very serious. You might have a concussion. We need to get you to the Student Health Center right away,” the professor insists.

Francis uses the side of one of the planters to pull himself to his feet. Across the row, he sees a large, orange flower. Much larger and brighter than the surrounding flowers. Instinctually, Francis grabs at his throat and rubs it softly. A single memory flits on the edge of conscious awareness. Coughing. Feeling his lungs coat with… dust? No, spores. The memory comes flooding back, and Francis remembers how he ended up on the ground.

“Come, grab your backpack. I’ll walk you to the Health Center,” Dr. Lawler offers.

Francis’ eyes remain transfixed on the flower. It’s an unnatural color, unlike any other orange flower Francis has ever seen. And the way the spores worked their way down his throat… almost as if they were sentient. Francis isn’t sure what any of it means, but he’s certain that the Student Health Center can’t help him. He doesn’t know if [i]anyone[/i] can…

Francis breaks his gaze and turns to Dr. Lawler. “You don’t have to walk me,” he says. “I can get there by myself.”

Dr. Lawler frowns. “You’ve been passed out on the floor all night. I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to—“

“Really, Dr. Lawler,” Francis cuts in. “I appreciate your concern, but I feel alright. Besides, don’t you have a class in twenty minutes, anyway?”

The professor checks his watch, then frowns again. Begrudgingly, he replies, “Alright, but I want to be updated as soon as you can.” He places a reassuring hand on Francis’ shoulder. “I need to know that my star pupil’s alright.”

Francis nods. “Yeah, absolutely. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

Once clear of the greenhouse, Francis checks over his shoulder to see if Dr. Lawler is watching. He appreciates his mentor’s concern, but Francis has no plans to go to the Student Health Center. Something happened last night, something strange. And somehow, Francis doesn’t believe that the under-qualified nurses at LHU are going to be able to help him with it. Moreover, he doesn’t feel bad at all. In fact, he’s never felt healthier, save for the throbbing headache and the foggy memory.

On his way back to his dorm, Francis spots a fellow classmate, Christina, from across the quad. Francis had always admired Christina from afar, dating back to their high school days together, but he barely registered as a blip on her radar. Christina was part of the “in” crowd, and Francis was decidedly not. However, he had hoped that college – and the absence of such a rigid social structure – would yield better results. As of yet, Christina had rejected his advances, but Francis held out hope.

“Christina!”

The blonde-haired girl stops and looks over her shoulder. She spots Francis hurrying to catch up to her, but she doesn’t break stride. In her eyes, he would always be that weird loner kid with the strange obsession with plants and flowers. She could tolerate it in high school, when he was too sheepish to even speak to her, but Francis had gotten bolder since coming to LHU. Christina thought she had made her opinion of him abundantly clear, but like a gnat he always seemed to be buzzing around when she least wanted him there.

“Hey, I almost didn’t see you,” Francis says, slightly out of breath from jogging to catch up to her.

[i]Wish you hadn’t,[/i] Christina thinks to herself. “What do you want, Francis?” she says curtly.

“Nothing,” Francis replies, a little taken aback by her rudeness. He decides to brush it off and press onward. “So, are you on your way to class?”

Christina turns her head and gives Francis a cold stare. Her eyes look up at his hair briefly. “What the hell did you do to your hair?”

Francis furrows his brow. He pulls out his phone and checks his reflection in the glass. Sure enough, his shaggy hair is starting to turn from brown to green. He pulls at it, confused. “What the hell?” he mutters under his breath. Looking up from his phone, he sees that Christina is now a few paces ahead and speeds up accordingly.

Christina sighs. “Francis, I really don’t have time for this.”

“Time for what?”

“This,” she repeats, waving her hand dismissively. “You and your little high school crush. I’ve tried to make it clear to you that I am [i]not[/i] interested, but you seem to be too dense to pick up on it, so I’ll spell it out for you.” She stops in her tracks and faces him. “I don’t like you, Francis. I have never liked you, and I will never like you. You’re just some weirdo who picks flowers and spends all his time with his mom.”

The words sting. Francis hangs his head as he endures the verbal beating.

“I have tried [i]everything[/i] to get this across to you,” Christina says, exhausted. “I’ve tried ignoring you, I’ve tried being polite with you…”

At this, Francis raises his head. “Polite?” he spits back. “You think how you’ve treated me has been polite?” He clenches his fists. “What, because you never berated and belittled me like all your little popular friends in high school? You think I didn’t see you giggling when they harassed me?”

Christina rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Francis. Grow up already. I’m so not dealing with this.” She turns and begins walking away.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” Francis barks. He points an accusing finger in her direction.

Suddenly, something strange happens. The ground beside the sidewalk starts to churn, and a thorny vine rises up from the dirt. The vine lashes out at Christina, wrapping itself around her neck. Christina begins to choke, and the thorns dig into her skin. Thin streams of blood start to slide slowly down her neck. It all happens so fast.

Francis looks down at his outstretched hand, fist still clenched, finger still pointing angrily at Christina. Somehow, he knows that he’s responsible for what’s happening to her. He relaxes, and the vine’s grip on her throat loosens. Francis is terrified. What is going on? What is he doing? Did he… summon this vine? Did he [i]make[/i] it attack her? No, no, he couldn’t. He’s not like that. He never wanted to hurt anyone.

[i]That’s not true,[/i] Francis reminds himself. He thinks back to all those long days of torment in high school. Turning the other cheek and hoping that the bullies eventually got bored enough to leave him alone. Wanting nothing more than to retaliate, to make them fear him the way that he feared them. There are plenty of people that Francis wanted to hurt. He just never had the means.

Until now.

Francis clenches his fist once more, and the vine constricts around Christina’s neck. The blood runs more quickly as the thorns push deeper. Christina flails and scratches at the vine, but ultimately she relents. Francis is already walking away from the scene when her body ultimately goes limp.