by Lee Goldberg, Scott Nicholson, J A Konrath, J Carson Black,
She was on her way to Purple 8 to find a movie to watch. Something to kill the evening. Shotzen, the doctor surmised, was coming back from Purple 6. That's where the liquor was kept. The Rabbi had been holding something at his side, trying to conceal it. Trying to hide his secret.
Harker knew about having secrets.
She entered Purple 8 and hit the light. The room was arranged like a library, which made sense because it was essentially just that. But unlike Red 3, which held documents about Project Samhain, this was put here for the entertainment needs of the staff. Harker walked past the shelving units filled with fiction, past the several large magazine racks (the compound had subscriptions to 58 different magazines, and issues were dropped off every few months with supplies), and past the archaic film collection (actual 16mm films in cans on reels.)
The video collection was one aisle over from film. It included the obsolete reel-to-reel format, which replaced kinescope for recording television from the 60s, and the racks of ¾” tapes which became standard in the 70s. None of these interested Harker. She continued down the isle until she reached the first commercially produced tapes for home use. Betamax.
Samhain's Beta selection was among the largest in the world. It may have also been the only remaining one in the world as well, since the Sony format had become obsolete years prior to VHS. There were over 20,000 titles, arranged alphabetically and according to genre.
Harker didn't give the Action/Adventure section a glance. She also passed up Drama, Westerns, and the Adult aisle. Samhain had an ample pornography section, both magazine and video, much of it vintage and also worth a lot of money. The armed forces have known for many years that a man's sex drive can put him off task, so the easiest thing to do was cater to it. Harker had no interest in that.
She came to a stop at Comedy and found the films she was looking for immediately. Poor Little Rich Girl. Curly Top. Baby Take a Bow. Her eyes began to mist. These were three of her all time favorites.
Harker loved Shirley Temple. Loved her so much that she named her daughter Shirley. It had been the realization of a life long dream.
Dr. Julie Harker was born to be a mother. In her earliest memories, she'd always had a doll. Something to feed, and change, and talk to. Something that loved her as much as she loved it. In Julie's childhood her dolls were real babies, and she was the perfect Mama.
She knew the psychology behind it. She knew the reasons she had such a strong maternal urge. Both of Julie's parents had been unfit. Alcoholics. Abusers. They never should have had children. Kids were supposed to be a joy. But in Harker's house, she had been a burden.
“You're so fat and ugly,” she could remember her father saying over and over. “We'll never be able to marry you off. We'll be stuck with you forever.”
Not if Julie could help it. She knew she wasn't attractive, even if her parents hadn't reminded her of the fact constantly. Besides her weight problem and somewhat masculine features, Julie was painfully shy. She went through four years of high school without a friend or a date. But there was more to life than looks.
Julie Harker graduated at the top of her class, and had her pick of colleges. Medical school was tough, and her poor people skills were an obstacle, but Julie's saving grace was her way with children. She joined a pediatric practice after her internship, but that was only half of the equation. She still needed to have a child of her own.
With the tapes nestled safely under her arm, Harker left Purple 8 and returned to her room. She put Curly Top in the VCR and hit REWIND. Then she turned off the lights and undressed.
Samhain wasn't so bad, she decided. Compared to that month of sheer hell she spent in prison, this place was almost pleasant. True, it would never be like it was, raising Shirley and Shirley.
Harker frowned as the memory returned. The first Shirley had been hers. Julie had planned it carefully. She'd considered artificial insemination, but was leery about the honesty of the donors. Several times she went to bars, hoping to get picked up, but the men who hit on her didn't have the kind of genes she wanted passed on to her child.
She finally settled on her neighbor's son. He was seventeen, gawky and inexperienced, but from good stock. Her first attempts at seduction were laughable, but she lucked out one night when his parents weren't home, and after sharing a bottle of wine they did the deed.
Nine months later, Shirley was born. There were complications; profuse bleeding that resulted in a full hysterectomy, but Shirley was perfect. Her daughter was beautiful, actually physically beautiful, and Julie Harker was happy beyond all expectations.
For seven wonderful months, Harker raised Shirley. It was the greatest time in her life. Shirley healed every scar Harker had retained from her upbringing. She was a dream come true.
The autopsy report called it SIDS. Sudden infant death syndrome. Sometime during the night, Shirley had stopped breathing. When Harker found her in the morning, she was blue.
Dr. Julie Harker thought she handled the situation very well. Being a pediatrician, she easily gained admission to the hospital's nursery. She'd just lost a child, and could never give birth to another, so why shouldn't she have a replacement? Julie was born to be a mother. It wasn't fair that she was denied her birthright.
The second Shirley was actually named Jennifer. She was four days old when Harker smuggled her out of the hospital. That same day she fled the country, finding work as a nurse in Canada. She'd had this Shirley for almost a year, raising her and loving her as much as she had the first Shirley, before the authorities found her.
They came for her while she was nursing. She saw the police car outside. She knew they’d try to take Shirley away from her.
Harker couldn’t allow that.
She ran out the back door, Shirley wrapped in a blanket, ran into the woods with the police right behind her. She was hysterical, frantic, and never saw the branch she tripped over.
When Harker fell, she landed on top of Shirley.
After being extradited to the United States, she was tried and convicted of kidnaping and second-degree murder.
Prison almost destroyed Julie. She'd lost two kids in a ten month period, and the grief consumed her. Prison was worse than school, with the teasing and harassment. Julie was attacked many times, and her mental state flip-flopped between constant grief and terror.
President Reagan's call was a blessing.
Harker had been in the prison infirmary, recovering from a botched suicide attempt. Reagan had made it very clear that he didn't like Harker, or the things she'd done, and didn't care one way or the other what happened to her. But he offered Harker a choice. She could either carry out her life sentence in prison, or at a fully equipped secret facility in New Mexico, looking after the daily health of a research team.
Harker made the obvious decision. The VCR stopped and Harker pressed PLAY, then she curled up in bed to watch the video.
Yes, Samhain was a prison of sorts, and yes, she would probably die here, but life could be worse. And maybe, now that Bub was talking, the project would end. Maybe, after over twenty years of service, Harker would get a reprieve. There was always hope.
“Hello, Shirley,” Harker said as the movie began, the tears starting to flow. “Sing a song for Mama.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After her shower, Sun put on a pair of blue jeans and a snug black top with a V-neck. She spent ten minutes on her hair and make-up, and another two minutes searching for perfume before she remembered she didn’t own any.
“It’s just a game of pool,” she said to her reflection.
Then she brushed her teeth.
Purple 5 had more to offer than just pool. It was a fully equipped game room, complete with darts, foosball, ping pong, and an old Asteroids arcade game. Andy was at the table, rolling a cue across the slate to make sure it wasn’t warped. He wore tan Dockers and a striped shirt, untucked with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was still wet from the shower.
Looking at him, Sun felt her
stomach do little flip-flops. She silently cursed her hormones. This wasn’t the time, or the place, to start a relationship.
It doesn’t have to be a relationship, the little voice in her head told her. It can just be sex.
She told the little voice to shut up.
“What’s your game,” Andy asked. “Eight ball or nine ball?”
“I prefer nine. Lag for the break?”
“Sure. Double or nothing, right?
“Right. Two thousand dollars.”
“Or two kisses.”
Andy winked at her.
After selecting a stick from the rack and chalking the tip, Sun stood next to Andy and they both placed a cue ball on the table. Lagging was an art form. The trick was to bounce the cue ball off the far rail and have it return back. The one who got it closest to the near rail without touching won the break. Sun’s parents had a pool table, and she grew up with the game. She hadn't played in a few years, but once she slid the stick onto the bridge of her fingers it all came back to her.
“Ready?”
Andy nodded.
Sun won the lag.
“You’re a few inches short,” she teased.
“I’m not sure how I should reply to that.”
Sun used the triangle to rack the balls, leaving a perfect nine ball diamond pattern on the table. She put her whole body into the break, getting good separation and sinking the 4.
“Nice,” Andy said. “Where did you learn to break like that?”
“I played the pro circuit for a while.”
Sun lined up the one ball and flashed Andy a grin.
Andy said, “You're kidding, right?”
She banked the one into a corner pocket, leaving herself position on the two.
“Most people think pool is a man's game. It's not. Football—running, throwing, hitting each other. That's a man's game.”
Sun put away the two ball, setting up an easy shot on the 3. She leaned over a bit farther than necessary, enjoying his eyes on her body.
“Pool,” Sun continued, “pool is all about angles and finesse and thinking ahead. Carefully plotting actions and executing them with precision.”
The three went in with a whisper, and the five was all lined up.
“Visualizing what you want, and getting it.”
She pocketed the five and also put down the seven, crippled along the side pocket.
“It's like seduction,” Sun said. “Something that a woman can do much better than a man.”
“Is this a date?” Andy asked. “This is a date, right? I mean, not a going out kind of date, because we're not out, but we've got this man-woman thing going on here, right?”
Sun smiled at him. “Why put labels on it? We’re just two consenting adults, enjoying a two thousand dollar game of pool.”
“We should really play foosball. Now that's my game. I did that as a living, for a while. Hustling foosball.”
“Good money?” Sun asked, eyeing the 6.
“Yeah. I used to bring in four, five bucks a night.”
“Sounds like a fun way to spend your childhood.”
“Childhood? I did it until I turned thirty.”
Sun laughed, missing her shot.
“Okay, stand back,” Andy said. “Now you'll see why they call me Fast Andy.”
Andy took careful aim at the 6 ball, and with an easy, steady stroke, missed it completely and scratched the cue into the corner pocket.
“Because you lose so fast?” Sun asked.
Andy’s eyes twinkled with challenge. “I'd be winning if you weren't wearing that tight blouse.”
“So if I took the blouse off, you'd be more focused?”
I’m actually flirting, Sun thought. It felt nice. Really nice.
She eyed the table. Andy was leaning against the rail, in the way of her shot.
“You wanna move, so I can win my two thousand dollars?”
“Not really, no.”
Sun walked over to him and put her arms around his waist, still holding her cue.
“I knew this was a date,” Andy said. “Right? Am I right?”
Sun placed the cue ball on the table and drew her stick back, shooting behind him. In one fluid movement she banked off the six and sunk the nine, winning the game.
“Nice shot,” Andy looked down at her, putting his hands on her shoulders.
“Thanks.” She let go of the cue, but her arms remained around his waist. Their eyes locked. “I take cash and personal checks.”
“I want to be honest with you. I only have four dollars to my name.”
Andy’s lips parted slightly. She could feel his heart through his ribs, and it seemed to beat a little louder. Though he had the barest hint of stubble on his face, Sun could smell aftershave. She moved her hand up his sides, feeling the muscles in his back, thinking that she hadn’t touched a man like that in so long.
Sun stared at him, wondering if her pupils were as wide as his. She waited for him to move in for the kiss, unsure what she would do if he tried.
Neither of them moved.
The moment lingered, then passed. Sun dropped her hands and turned away.
“So foosball is your game?” she said, trying to sound upbeat.
“I’m supernatural at foosball. I’m ranked third in the world.”
“Double or nothing?”
“You’re on.”
Sun beat him in four minutes.
“There’s got to be something you can win at,” she said after the final goal.
“Football,” Andy said. “That was my game. All the running and the hitting. It's not a real sport unless you wear mouth protection. Would you like to see where I got kicked in the head with cleats?”
“How about Asteroids,” Sun said. “I stink at Asteroids.”
Andy stunk worse. Sun played her last ship with her eyes closed, and still annihilated his score.
“What are we up to?” Andy asked. “Eight grand?”
“There’s got to be something you can win at.” Sun looked around the rec room, trying to find something she wasn’t good at.
“How about arm wrestling?”
Sun declined. Andy looked strong, but if she beat him at arm wrestling she didn’t think his ego would ever recover.
“How about Scrabble in Portuguese?” Andy suggested.
“Board games are in Purple 10.”
As they walked out of the rec room, Sun noticed Andy’s limp.
“Did you pull a muscle?”
“Blister.” Andy made a face. “From not wearing socks.”
“Let me see it.”
“It’s ugly.”
“I’m a big girl.”
Andy kicked off his shoe and peeled down his sock. It was ugly, covering much of his heel, red and inflamed.
“We need to dress that. Come on.”
Sun took Andy’s hand and led him into Yellow 6, the medical supply room. She sat him on the padded examination table and removed his shoe and sock.
“Don’t you need to muzzle me first?” Andy asked.
Sun grinned. “Have you had your shots?”
“I’m not sure. Let me check my tags.”
Sun opened the closet and found some gauze, tape, hydrogen peroxide, and burn ointment on the well-stocked shelves.
“Are you sure you’re qualified to do this?” Andy asked.
“I think I can manage.”
“Remember, this is a blister. Not a neutering.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
She dabbed peroxide on some gauze and cleaned the inflamed skin.
“So why did you become a vet?” Andy asked. “No desire to practice on people at all?”
Sun tried to think of something flippant, but nothing came to mind.
“Not that I’m knocking vets,” Andy said quickly. “But it seems like you’d make a great MD.”
She squirted on some ointment, but her good mood deflated like a leaky tire. The memories came back. Memories she’d been trying for y
ears to suppress.
“Sun? You okay?”
Could she tell him? Would that scare him away?
“Sun?”
“I... I used to be a doctor,” she said. “A human doctor.”
Sun taped on the bandage and waited for a response. None came. The silence stretched.
“If you want to talk about it,” Andy said finally, “I want to know.”
He reached down and took her hand. She gripped it, tight, and sat on the table next to him. The words, unspoken for so long, began to tumble out of her.
“I did my internship at Johns Hopkins, began my residency there. I was on the tail end of a twenty hour shift; there was an apartment fire and we'd been working without break for eight hours. A women came in with abdominal pain to the right iliac fossa. Her tongue was coated, she had foetor oris, high temp, vomiting; text book appendicitis. Hers was ready to rupture. We prepped her for a laparotomy, emptied her stomach with a naso-gastric, and I scrubbed for surgery.”
Sun could remember how tired she was, and how determined that she wouldn't let fatigue get in the way of her job. The woman was Caucasian and overweight, but in a way she reminded Sun of her own mother. Even though her pain was severe she'd been stoic.
“I'd done a dozen appendectomies. It was a simple operation. I made a gridiron incision through McBurney's point, divided the mesoappendix, used a pursestring suture in the caecum. Then I closed her up and she was discharged a few days later.”
Sun swallowed, held Andy’s hand even tighter.
“She bounced back the next week. Temperature of 105. Peritonitis. Her peritoneal cavity was filled with pus and fecal matter.” Sun took a deep breath. “My pursestring suture had opened. I hadn't tied it off. Her lower intestine emptied out into her abdominal cavity.”
Sun turned away from Andy, stared at a spot on the wall.
“She didn't make it,” she said softly.
Sun had been the one who opened her up the second time. The woman had come in and asked for Sun by name. Had trusted her to help.
“You lost your job,” Andy said.
“The review committee was unanimous. Any first year intern could have done that suture. I screwed up. The Maryland Medical Board revoked my license. The Board had been taking some bad hits in the media, and they made an example out of me. I had over a hundred thousand dollars in student loans, and loss of my license meant I'd never pay them back. So I filed bankruptcy.
