by Mira Grant
Dr. Banks laughed. “Oh, Sally. I do love your sense of humor. Rules are rules. If I’d changed them, everyone would have known something was up. But oh, I’ve wanted to know what my old friend was doing, and that meant keeping tabs on her son. There was always the chance that she might decide to make contact sometime in the future—which she did, through you. You’re apparently more important to her than her own son. Interesting implications, don’t you think?” He tried that old paternal smile again. It wasn’t working as well as it usually did. “His interest in you was something we couldn’t have predicted, but I’ll admit, we did nothing to discourage it. Keeping the two of you in one place—a package deal, so to speak—made surveillance so much easier.”
I stared at him. “But why…?”
“Your father is the head of USAMRIID’s San Francisco office. We needed a way to watch him without it being suspicious. You were the perfect entry into his home.” Dr. Banks looked briefly apologetic. “We’re sorry to have disrupted your life as much as we did. If it makes you feel any better, we wouldn’t have done it if there had been any other way.”
“But…” I shook my head. “You couldn’t have planned this. I had an accident.” An accident I remembered absolutely nothing about. I’d never even spoken to any of the witnesses. By the time I was out of recovery and able to really wonder about what had happened to me, they had already put the incident behind them, vanishing into the general population without a thought for the girl whose car kissed a bus.
“I admit, Sally, I’d hoped we could convince you to join our SymboGen family,” said Dr. Banks. “I wanted to be able to protect you. You’re a special girl, and you deserve better than the world outside these doors. But if we’d accomplished that, Shanti probably wouldn’t have contacted you. She’s always been canny. While she might have smelled ‘trap’ on your skin, she was willing to take the risk, and I doubt that would have been the case if you’d been on the payroll.”
“I had an accident,” I repeated, with less certainty.
“I was also a little disappointed when you decided to shut us out, rather than coming to me and asking who this woman was, slipping notes into your things and trying to lure you into the path of danger. She’s the real reason you were in Lafayette, isn’t she? That’s why you nearly got hurt in that mob of sleepwalkers. Because Shanti was careless with the lives of others once again.”
I looked at him solemnly, seeing the entire situation play out from that single-pointed comment. Dr. Banks was looking for a scapegoat. Whether it was nonexistent protozoa or the woman who’d helped to design the Intestinal Bodyguard didn’t matter: all he needed was someone or something to pin the sleepwalking sickness on, and he and SymboGen could walk away scot-free. All it would take was a story that people would believe—and which was more attractive, really? The idea that a trusted corporation responsible for the health and happiness of millions had made a huge research error, or the idea that one woman, embittered over her own relative obscurity, had done something to change that company’s good works?
He would turn Dr. Cale into a criminal. I might not object to that as stridently as he’d expect me to—she was Nathan’s mother, and she meant well, but she’d created the implants and she valued the well-being of tapeworms as much as, if not more than, she valued the well-being of humans. I’d still object. If this was SymboGen’s fault, then SymboGen needed to pay for it. And that included the man who’d turned Dr. Surrey Kim into Dr. Shanti Cale in the first place.
“We went for ice cream.” My voice didn’t shake at all. I sounded utterly reasonable to my own ears. I hugged my backpack against my chest, still staring at him. “Nathan knew I was upset about that weird phone call from that… that woman, and so we went for ice cream. She never told me her name.”
For the first time, Dr. Banks looked unsure. “You knew Dr. Cale was Nathan’s mother.”
“Because you told me she was.” I shook my head. “I’m here because I didn’t know where else to go. The last time I was here, Chave tried to kill me, and you locked me in a little room in the basement with people who wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. Do you really think I’d be here now if there was someplace else? I’m so uncomfortable right now.” I didn’t have to force tears to well up in my eyes. The churning panic in my gut brought them leaping to the surface. “I didn’t come here so you could accuse me of working against you. I had an accident, and now you’re acting like you’ve only been nice to me all this time because you thought you could use me. I thought you were different from my family, Dr. Banks. I thought you cared.”
That last part was a lie, but it came close enough on the heels of the truth that he didn’t appear to notice the difference. His face fell, and he rose from his chair, already reaching for me. “Sally, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Please, I never wanted you to think of yourself as just a tool…”
I shied away from his hands, putting my head down on my backpack and sobbing in earnest. It seemed easier than trying to talk to him. I didn’t know what else there was to say, and his words were still careening madly around the inside of my skull, looking for things to knock loose. I had an accident. Sally Mitchell had an accident. Or did she? After all, the girl she left behind was never going to tell anyone any different. The girl she left behind wasn’t going to tell anyone anything at all about the last minutes of Sally’s life. That girl didn’t know.
I had forgotten something in Dr. Cale’s lab, hadn’t I? Something I wasn’t ready to remember yet…
“Sally, please.”
I kept crying. Joyce was sick. My mother didn’t want me anymore. My father was willing to lie to me if he thought it would help him learn more about the sleepwalking sickness. Even Dr. Banks was saying it had never been about me and my recovery at all: it had been about using me to get to the secrets he thought he might be able to weasel out of my father.
“Sally, I’m sorry.”
He sounded sincere. I raised my head, wiping away my tears as I looked at him. He looked back, hands spread in surrender.
“What do you want me to say?” he asked. “You know nothing is ever as simple as you want it to be. SymboGen is not the enemy here, but you were willing to let us be if it meant you didn’t have to trust people who weren’t always as comfortable as the ones you’d chosen to surround yourself with. No one has only your best interests at heart. Not me, not your parents… and not Dr. Cale. Whether you’ve met her or not, you should keep that in mind for when she does manage to catch up to you—and she is going to find you, Sally. She’s not the good to my evil. She’s not going to solve all of your problems with a wave of her hand and a cup of hot cocoa. You’re smart enough to know better than that. People like us… we don’t get easy answers like that.”
“Did you cause my accident?” I asked in a very small voice.
“No, Sally. SymboGen has never caused you to have an accident.” Dr. Banks sighed. “What can I do to convince you that we’re on the same side?”
The thumb drive with the stolen data Dr. Cale needed was safe in my pocket, pressed in a solid, reassuring line against my hip. “Can I… this is silly, I know, but can I have an ultrasound?”
Now it was Dr. Banks’s turn to look confused. “You want an ultrasound?”
“Sometimes… I have trouble going to sleep. I haven’t slept much since I found out Joyce was sick. I can’t. But I always sleep in the gel ultrasound chamber. I know it’s a big thing to ask, but…”
Confusion melted into relief as Dr. Banks grasped what I was asking. “No, it’s no trouble at all. I’ll call down to Dr. Sanjiv and Dr. McGillis, and let them know they’re needed at the lab. It won’t hurt anything for us to have more data on your progress, and if it means that you get to rest for a little while, that’s even better.”
“Thank you.” I wiped my face again. “I hate to impose.”
“After the week you’ve had, I think a little imposition is completely justified.” Dr. Banks straightened, back on familiar g
round: I was going to submit to medical tests, and he was going to pay for them. The fact that my things would be entirely unguarded during the process was just a bonus, something to be taken advantage of only if necessary.
He was probably going to find it necessary. I would have been worried about that, if I’d had any intention of actually getting into the ultrasound machine.
“Thank you,” I repeated, standing. I hugged my backpack against my chest as it moved, forcing myself to shelter it, and not my pocket, from any casual study. Don’t think about the thumb drive, I thought sternly. Focus on the backpack.
It seemed to be working, or maybe Dr. Banks was just eager to get his hands on my notebook again. His eyes, when they weren’t on my face, went to the backpack, tracking its motion across the office. “Do you mind if I walk you down?” he asked. “I don’t have a new personal assistant yet, and I’d hate to think of you getting lost on your way to the lab.”
Even with as many times as I had been down there, it was a reasonable concern: I’d never made the trip without Sherman, Chave, or both of them escorting me. “Not at all,” I said, and managed to muster a wavering smile. “I’d appreciate the company.”
“I’m glad,” said Dr. Banks, and led me to the office door.
He talked while we were in the elevator going down, the usual easy, meaningless chatter about stock prices, recent news reports, and the weather. He seemed to realize I wasn’t really listening, but that didn’t stop him; it was like he needed to be doing something with his mouth to keep from saying anything that would break our fragile, temporary peace right down the middle. We could both feel how frail it was, stitched together with my silence and his willingness to back off when he saw that he had pushed me too far.
The really sad thing was, as I listened to him babble about anything and everything but the sleepwalkers, I realized that Dr. Banks genuinely seemed to care about what happened to me—even more than my own parents did. He didn’t have a very good grasp of how to show it, and he was almost certainly still telling me lies, but he wanted me to be happy. I could tell that much from the way he kept glancing in my direction, seeking approval from the lines of my face. He wanted me to be happy. Whether or not that was possible was irrelevant. We all want things that can never happen, and even when we know they’re not going to become reality, we keep on wanting them.
Dr. Sanjiv was waiting in front of the elevator bank when the doors finally opened on the underground lab level. Her normally impeccable bun was slightly less well tied than usual, resulting in a few flyaway hairs around her face; like Dr. Banks, she looked just a little unfinished, overwound, and tired. “Sir,” she said, offering Dr. Banks a polite nod before turning her attention to me. “Hello, Sally. How are you feeling today?”
“Okay, I guess,” I lied. I didn’t feel like getting into it with her. “How are you?”
“Busy.” She paused, realizing her mistake, and amended, “But always happy to see my favorite patient. Marvin is getting the ultrasound gel prepared for you.”
“I hope you understand the importance of Miss Mitchell’s comfort,” said Dr. Banks, with a note of warning in his voice that was enough to make me feel uneasy.
It was worse for Dr. Sanjiv; she worked for him, after all. “Yes, sir,” she said, straightening until it looked like someone had manually locked her spine into place. “I promise the utmost care will be taken in the procedure. You can ask Sally yourself, if you’d like. Dr. McGillis and I have done this multiple times, and she’s never had any complications.”
“They’re some of my favorite techs here,” I said, picking up my cue. It was the truth, and even more, I didn’t want anyone to get in any more trouble than was absolutely necessary. I was, after all, planning to disappear on their watch. It might go a little better for them if they weren’t already in trouble when that happened.
“If you’re positive,” said Dr. Banks. He looked to me, brows furrowing as he searched my face. I had no idea what he was looking for. I wasn’t really sure I wanted to know. “Sally, you know you can tell me anything, don’t you? I’m sorry about before, in the office. I wasn’t thinking clearly, and I apologize.”
“That’s okay, Dr. Banks,” I said, fighting the urge to squirm. Dr. Sanjiv was looking away, her face schooled into an expression of careful neutrality. The way he was phrasing things, it sounded almost like he’d made a pass at me. One that had been rebuffed. I was glad of that much, at least. I wasn’t going to have to deal with the entire staff of the lab thinking I’d been sleeping with their boss. “We’ve all had a hard week. It’s why I asked if I could have an ultrasound.”
Dr. Sanjiv laughed, an odd little rippling run of notes that sounded artificial only because I had never heard her laugh before. “She falls asleep every time,” she said, to Dr. Banks. “It’s amazing; we’ve never seen anything like it. The gel floods in, and Sally checks out. She stays asleep for the whole process. I wish all our patients could be as easy to work with as she is.”
“I always told you Miss Mitchell was special,” said Dr. Banks.
I was still trying to figure out why sometimes I was “Sally” and sometimes I was “Miss Mitchell” when he turned back to me, seizing my hands before I could step out of his reach.
“Maybe you know what I mean by this and maybe you don’t, but Sally, some doors are closed because they’re meant to be closed. Do you understand me? Not every door is supposed to be opened, and not every open door is supposed to be used. You have a choice.”
My choice had been made the moment I plugged the thumb drive into his computer, if not long before then. Still, he looked so sincere, and so worried, that I felt I owed him something. Trying to look confused and supportive at the same time, I nodded, and said, “I understand, Dr. Banks.”
“Good. Good, Sally.” He let go of my hands, taking a step backward, toward the elevator. “Dr. Sanjiv, I’m leaving her in your care.”
“Yes, sir,” said Dr. Sanjiv.
Dr. Banks stepped into the nearest open elevator, which slid closed behind him. Dr. Sanjiv motioned for me to follow her down the hall to the ultrasound lab. As promised, Dr. McGillis was at his station, tapping a series of commands into the computer. He wasn’t alone. I stopped in the doorway, gaping.
Sherman looked up from his study of Dr. McGillis’s monitor and smiled. “Hello, pet,” he said.
When it became apparent that I wasn’t going to move on my own, Dr. Sanjiv planted her hands on my shoulders and pushed me bodily into the room. I offered her no resistance. I did manage to keep from stumbling, but it was a near thing. She kept pushing until I was far enough in for her to close the door. “Well?” she snapped. I wasn’t sure who she was talking to. I hoped it wasn’t me, because I couldn’t answer her. I could barely breathe.
“Oh, come on, Sal,” said Sherman, sliding off his stool. “Don’t stand there gawping like a codfish. You haven’t seen a ghost. It’s just me. Or have you decided to break my heart by forgetting me already?” He pulled an exaggeratedly sorrowful expression. “I thought we were friends.”
“You were sick.” My mouth was desert-dry. I swallowed and tried again, with barely any more strength than I had managed the first time: “You were sick. They took you away after Chave collapsed. How are you here? Did you get better?” Hope sprung wild in my chest. Maybe Dr. Banks had lied to me about having a treatment, or maybe Dr. Cale was the one who’d lied, claiming that there were no recoveries when they were really just rare. “Are you better now?”
“Aw, pet. Don’t look so miserable, you’ll break my heart.” Sherman’s expression sharpened as he glanced to Marvin. “How’s the tank coming?”
“It’s almost ready,” he said. “The procedure usually takes about an hour, so we should have that long before Dr. Banks comes looking for Sally. If he tries to monitor the process, we have some old data he hasn’t seen that we can feed through to him. As long as she’s not pregnant or hiding any broken bones, it’ll work.” Marvin glanced my way, ey
es raking along my body assessingly. “Are you pregnant?”
“What? No! I’m not pregnant, I’m not… what is going on here?” I looked to Sherman. All three of them had been friendly to me, but he was the only one I really thought of as an ally. Mysterious as his presence was, I was happy to accept it if it made getting through the next few minutes easier. “Sherman, please. What’s happening? How are you here? I thought you were…”
“Aw, Sal. You know I never could resist those big brown eyes of yours.” He walked over to me, bending to gather me into a hug. I didn’t resist. I hugged him back, glad beyond words to have him back. I had missed him so much while I thought that he was dead. I had missed him—
His heartbeat seemed oddly loud with my ear pressed against his neck. It briefly overwhelmed the sound of my own inner drums. It mingled and harmonized with them, taking over the rhythm line for the few seconds that passed before he pulled away, leaving me blinking and newly confused.
“I didn’t get better because I wasn’t sick,” he said, with the utmost patience. “I never had the so-called ‘sleepwalking sickness.’ I never lost control of my own mind. And I always knew that you’d come back to us, my sweet Sal. You’d have to see the light sooner or later. It shines right through the branches, doesn’t it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s talking about the thumb drive,” said Dr. Sanjiv. She sounded almost bored. “We know you stole those files off of Dr. Banks’s computer, and we want you to give them to us. This doesn’t have to be difficult, or complicated. Just hand over the thumb drive. You can even get into the ultrasound chamber for real after that, if you want to.”
I stared at her. “What?”
“There are never just two sides in anything,” said Sherman. “Children’s games, maybe, but we’re not children, and this is not a game. Not even you are a child, my dear, for all that you’re only a little over six years old. You’re old enough to make your own decisions, live your own life, and be drafted into someone else’s war, whether you want to be or not.”
