Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  We stay for a couple more hours. Vivian’s heart rate increases every so often, but other than that, she remains unresponsive.

  There is no daylight to tell the hour, but around six o’clock, the lights on the entire ward dim. Dad flips on the lamp on the nightstand beside her bed. “Viv doesn’t like the dark,” he says.

  My stomach rumbles loudly, and Dad laughs. “I’m sorry. I’ve kept you here too long.”

  He stands and brushes a kiss on Vivian’s forehead. “I’ll be back,” he whispers.

  Dad informs the nurse that we’ll be back in the morning, and we walk hand in hand back to the car.

  “So, how are you doing?” I ask as we buckle in.

  Dad puts his forehead down on the steering wheel and sighs. “Holding up. Hungry. Exhausted.” He lifts his head and starts the car. “About the same as you, I’m sure. Let’s hit the first drive-thru we see.”

  “That wasn’t what I was asking,” I say.

  “I know. I never imagined this outcome. Never. I thought of a million things that could have happened to Viv, and this just wasn’t one of them.” His knuckles turn white as he clenches the steering wheel. “She’s still in there. She hasn’t aged, that’s the proof. She’s keeping herself from aging.”

  “You don’t think,” I say, swallowing, “that maybe her body was just conditioned to respond that way? We can’t automatically assume that she’s doing it on purpose.”

  Dad nods slowly. “I’m hoping again, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, but I don’t see how you can help it. I don’t know Vivian, and I don’t love her, but I’m hoping. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t hope. You know…did Grandma ever tell you about my experiments, the ones I was doing before you came home?”

  Dad shakes his head. “No.”

  “I tried to bring a mouse back to life with electricity. It failed miserably, of course.”

  “Of course,” Dad says with a smile.

  “Grandma said the same thing. But anyway, I was thinking that we have this amazing ability to heal, and me in particular, I can heal my central nervous system, so there must be a way to bring my abilities to someone else.”

  “We’ve been working on it at the Attic,” he says. “We’re pretty sure it’s a protein, and you must have that protein.” He glances at me. “It’s your choice, completely your choice, but I’d like to try to isolate the protein in your brain.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  Dad smiles. “Don’t be so quick to agree. I won’t give consent for brain surgery of any kind, but we can access the protein in other ways. A lumbar puncture, for example.”

  “Painful,” I say, “if I couldn’t turn off my nerves.”

  “You may have to do it cold,” he says. “Turning off your nerves might interfere in some way.”

  I swallow. “I can handle it.”

  “Maybe…you might have to injure and repair yourself, so we could harvest the protein as it works.”

  “You said no brain, so what? The heart?”

  “Or the spine. We’ll have to consult with the doctors I have there.”

  “So are you a doctor?” I ask.

  “No. Might as well be, though. I know the body in ways a doctor without our abilities never will.”

  “When did you become the director?”

  Dad turns into a Kansas BBQ drive-thru. We order barbecue chicken sandwiches and fries, and Cokes with extra ice. Mom would never have let me eat this stuff.

  As soon as the girl at the window hands him our food, he shoves the bags in my lap and slurps greedily on his Coke. I do the same with mine.

  “Aaah,” he says. “Twelve years ago.”

  “Do you still do stuff with the SEALs?”

  “When they need me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I mean, I know the Attic’s super-secret, but you could have said you were doing medical research.”

  Dad sighs. “You would have wanted to help. You would have asked questions. You would have wanted me to take you there. And when I refused, you would have done research on your own.”

  I sit back in my seat and stare out my window. A hug marble-sized lump has formed in my throat. “You told Mom you didn’t know me.”

  Dad stops the car at a red light and looks at me. I see his reflection in the window and turn to face him.

  “I lied, Thomas. You may be like Mom in a lot of important ways, but you’re also like me. I fucking lied.”

  Dad wasn’t kidding about living in shades of gray.

  Or maybe he is just that sure of himself, that lying to Mom and to me was the right thing to do.

  I think about Vivian, lying in bed for twenty years, waiting for…something. I agree with Dad. Vivian has been waiting.

  I think about Tessa. What if it were her lying in the bed instead of Vivian?

  I’d get a hundred lumbar punctures for her.

  I’d rip open my chest with my bare hands and tattoo her name on my heart with a scalpel if it would help her.

  I’d consent to doctors poking around in my son’s brain if it would bring her back to life.

  But I’m not Dad.

  But I’m like him, and he’s like me.

  If there’s a way to help Vivian, no matter what is required, I will do it.

  And I swear I will find a way to get Dad to let me.

  Dad immediately takes advantage of the hotel’s free wi-fi and gets on his laptop. He has to somehow transfer Dr. Trent to San Diego in three days. He has to arrange for Vivian to be transferred, and he has to prepare the Attic for her. He wants to consult with the doctors and get them ready for me.

  He spends an hour on the phone with some admiral. As the director of the Attic, Dad should have been apprised of Vivian’s whereabouts and condition. Of his daughter. Someone high up hid them from him. He wants to get to the bottom of it. The admiral doesn’t seem to know much. Dad ends the conversation visibly frustrated, and I can’t say I blame him.

  “Does it really matter?” I ask him as I crawl under the covers well past midnight. “What’s done is done. None of you can get the time back. You know what the Chinese say.”

  “Actually I don’t,” he says.

  “They say, ‘When you’re preparing for revenge, best dig two graves.’”

  Dad slips under the covers beside me and stretches out with his arms over his head. “You agree with them?”

  “Sort of,” I say. “I think getting justice is a separate issue, but if we’re just talking about revenge, yes. It’s like what I went through with Abbey. When I finally tried to get her back for being so cruel to me, I just ended up feeling worse and getting in trouble. It wasn’t as satisfying as I’d imagined it.”

  “Are you sure you’re only six?” Dad asks.

  I kick him under the covers. “I’m seven, remember?”

  Dad chuckles. “That explains it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  I’m disappointed to the point of tears when we arrive at Naval Medical Center, San Diego.

  Dad is not taking me to the Attic. It is not an appropriate place for a seven-year-old, he says.

  Instead, he has reserved the top floor of the hospital, usually the space for politicians who have heart attacks or rock stars who have twins. It’s almost like a house. We have our own reception area, complete with twenty-four-hour nurse. We have our own x-ray room, a hot tub Grandma would envy, and even a surgical room. If I weren’t so pissed off, I might even appreciate it.

  There are eight bedrooms. Dad has one, I have one, Vivian has one, and one will be for Grandma when she gets here. She’s still entertaining her friends, though Ray and Dinah have gone back home. And she’s going to take me out of school. What the hell did I need first grade for, anyway?

  Which reminds me of Tessa. Thinking about her, about maybe not seeing her for a long time, gives me a stomachache. I unpack my few belongings into the dresser that sits under the window. I take out my sketchbook and pencils and sit on the bed.

  I dra
w a slice of my brain. The wrinkles are a maze. I close my eyes and sketch while they’re still closed, picturing the winding roadmap of brain cells in my head. No one really knows what color the brain is when it’s still encased in the skull. Exposure to oxygen often changes the appearance of a thing. Perhaps my brain is flashing purple at this moment. Maybe it’s green.

  I color it a throbbing red.

  Dad gives me a day to settle in, but I settled myself plenty way before I got here. I’m bored and impatient. Dad has meetings all day and leaves me alone in the suite with Vivian asleep in the next room and only a nurse on duty at the desk. I can’t make myself go into Vivian’s room. Dad said I could spend time with her if I want, but what would be the point? I want Dad to be happy, but Vivian waking up presents a whole new set of challenges. I will do my best to face them if and when I have to, but I’m here to help by using my abilities. I want to be a part of the Attic. Vivian is just the means.

  I’m not sure if I really mean that.

  I ask the nurse if it’s okay to make a phone call. She asks if it’s to someone in the hospital.

  “No, in Orange County,” I say.

  She says that only the phone in Dad’s room can make long-distance calls. I sit on his bed and pull the phone into my lap. It’s an old-fashioned thing weighing a good ten pounds with thick push buttons and a spiral cord that keeps the receiver attached to the base. I want to be able to pace while I talk, but that will not be possible. So I arrange Dad’s pillows comfortably against the headboard, settle back, and dial the number from memory.

  I get his secretary.

  “Hello, Mary Kate,” I say. “This is Thomas Van Zandt. Is Dr. Rumson in?”

  “Oh, Thomas,” she says. “We’ve been worried about you. You missed Friday’s appointment.”

  Oops. Grandma was supposed to cancel for me.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I say. “There was a miscommunication. I had to go out of town.”

  “We’re just glad you’re alright. Let me get him. Just hold on one minute.”

  I only have to count to fifteen before Dr. Rumson picks up.

  “Thomas,” he says. “It’s good to hear from you.”

  “I apologize for missing our meeting, sir,” I say. “My grandma was supposed to cancel it. I guess she forgot.”

  “No harm done. Is everything okay at home?”

  “Yes,” I say. “It’s a long story, but I had to go out of town with my father. We may be gone quite a while.”

  “But everything’s okay,” he says.

  “Yes. We’re fine. But I have another dilemma to run by you.”

  I imagine Dr. Rumson’s eyes twinkling. “Shoot.”

  “Well, I’m wondering if our intentions always matter. Like, if you’re doing the right thing for the wrong reasons.”

  “Can you give me an example?” he asks.

  “Say there’s a fire, and you rescue someone from the burning building. But you didn’t really care about the saving the person. Say you saw a bunch of news vans pull up, and you thought it would be cool to be a hero on TV. Is that bad?”

  “It’s always important what’s in your heart,” he says. “I think, though, in that case, the action was more important than the intent. You saved the person and did the right thing, no matter why you did it. I think God would be okay with it.”

  “What if something went wrong? In the process of trying to save the person, say, a firefighter rushes in after you and he’s killed because of your recklessness, even if you and the person inside made it out safely.”

  “I think your intent is more important in that case,” he says. “Someone died because you thought it would be cool to be on TV. That’s wrong, even if you did save the person.” Dr. Rumson pauses. “These are rather complicated scenarios.”

  “I want to do the right thing,” I say. “I know what that right thing is, except there are variables outside of my control. I cannot guarantee a favorable outcome. Plus, I’d be doing it for a selfish reason.”

  “What is that reason?”

  “Because I want to see if I can do it,” I say. “And if I can do it, a lot of other people will benefit. I mean, I could change the lives of thousands of people.”

  “Then why do you think you’re being selfish?” Dr. Rumson asks. “It sounds as though this act will be extremely unselfish.”

  “Well, the person I would be helping first…I’m not sure I want to help her, specifically.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Well, she’s…” I pause, not really knowing how to put it in words. I decide not to think about it, and just spill it. “If I help her, my life will change. My dad might leave again. He might, I don’t know, get married again, or something.”

  “But knowing all those possibilities, you’re still willing to do it.”

  “Yes.”

  “It sounds like the only person who may come to harm as a result of your actions is yourself,” he says. “And you’re still willing to do it.”

  “Yes,” I say again.

  “You know, every time we choose to help someone we’re giving something up. If you buy your grandmother a present, you can’t spend the money on candy. If you run into that burning building, you may not come out. If you help a friend with homework, you have less time to spend on your own. None of those choices is selfish, Thomas.”

  “But if you look at why you do those things, they might be considered selfish.”

  “I think as long as you’re helping someone, and your intent is not to harm, then you’re on the side of right. As I’ve said before, human beings are complex. Relationships are complex. No one can be completely selfless one hundred percent of the time.”

  “So it’s okay that I’m ambivalent about helping the actual person involved,” I say.

  “You are human,” he says. “And just the fact that you’re worried about being good is enough for me and enough for God.” Then he sighs. “I know you still question God’s existence and His love for you, but I believe He’s listening to you. He knows you’re searching. He knows your heart. You are more than worthy.”

  “Dr. Rumson,” I say, fighting not to cry, “I do believe in Him. But how does He know that? I haven’t been baptized or anything.”

  “Baptism is just the outward ceremony, Thomas. God doesn’t need you to go through a ceremony. Trust me, He knows. And when you’re ready to do this right thing, He’ll be right there beside you.”

  “Do you…do you think I’ll go to Heaven?” I ask.

  “If you live your life the way God wants. You’re on the right path. I have no doubt of it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I whisper.

  “Thomas, you’re worrying me just a bit. What is this thing you have to do?”

  “I can’t tell you that, exactly,” I say, “but…it’s similar to donating a kidney. Someone needs something I can give in order to survive.”

  “A transplant? You’re going to have surgery?”

  “It’s not quite that dramatic, and not that dangerous, but similar, yes.”

  “And your father is with you?”

  “Yes,” I say. “He’s given consent.”

  “And…is your father giving consent for the right reasons?”

  I pause at that. “I believe so, yes.”

  “Would you…I’m going to keep in touch with your grandmother. She’s knows what’s going on, right?”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “Okay, then. Trust in yourself, Thomas. Trust in God. I will be praying for you.”

  “That would be nice,” I say. “Do you think you can get me on next Sunday’s prayer list?”

  Dr. Rumson chuckles softly. “I’ll do it right now.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “That will really help. Oh, and one other thing. I have a friend at school. Her name is Tessa Halter. I don’t think you know her, but maybe you could find her, if you needed to. She goes to Red Hill Elementary in Tustin, and she lives on Afton Lane.”

  “Wait, let me
write that down,” he says. “Tessa Halter, Afton Lane. Okay.”

  “I left a letter for her in my top dresser drawer. If I can’t…if something happens…nothing’s going to happen, but if it does…could you make sure she gets my letter?”

  “You’re sure there’s nothing else you’d like to tell me?”

  “No, sir,” I say. “I know I’m being overly dramatic, and I can hear the worry in your voice, and I apologize for that. It’s just, my mother left us so suddenly. I feel like I should be better prepared than she was.”

  “Thomas,” he says, alarmed, so I cut him off.

  “I’m sorry again. That sounded bad. I’m just covering my bases. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  Dr. Rumson is quiet so long that I think I’ve lost our connection.

  “Are you still there?” I ask.

  “I am. Thomas, does Tessa know you had to leave?”

  “No, sir. My grandmother was supposed to let her know, but…you know how she forgot to call Mary Kate about our appointment. I’m afraid she’s forgetting a lot these days. That’s why I wanted you to know about the letter.”

  “Would you feel better if I contacted her, let her know where you are?”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “That would ease my mind.”

  “Then I’ll do it. Do you know when you expect to come back?”

  “Well, what we’re doing, it’s kind of experimental, so we might have to try a few different things. I think probably at least a month. Three, tops. Unless…”

  “Unless?”

  “My dad works here. We may move. I just don’t know.”

  “Will you be able to talk while you’re gone?” he asks.

  “I don’t see why not,” I say. “I may have a few down days, but I should be able to.”

  “How about we keep up our Friday meetings, then? You can call me at 2:30, same time as our other meetings.”

  “I would love that.”

  I feel Dr. Rumson smiling through the phone. “Until next Friday, then.”

  “Next Friday,” I agree.

  “And Thomas, please take care of yourself.”