Strange New Feet

by Shannon Esposito

  “Yes, Gil, I’m here.”

  “We appreciate you being on the show, Mary. So, what can you tell us about Dr. Vogler, the creator of this part human child?”

  “Well, he was one of the founders of A.R.N., a very intense person, very passionate about the fight for animal rights. As shocked as we all were to hear about what he had done, it wasn’t shocking that it was him. He would take frequent trips to the Congo with Shar…”

  “Shar Carlton? The woman who Sue Barnes named as an accessory to the…crime?”

  “Yes, she was his long-time girlfriend. Anyway, we hadn’t seen them for almost a year, I guess. They were supposedly on some top-secret assignment. Nobody knew what they were up to, except Dr. Mills, I’m guessin’.”

  “I guess the whole world knows what they were up to now.”

  “I’m guessin’ your right, Gil,” Mary laughs.

  Safia drains her cup, gone cold now and closes her eyes.

  She listens to the rest of the show like this, her eyes closed against the faux concern on Gil Harley’s made-up face, against the production, the special affects, the nausea of one “guest” after another taking their fifteen minutes of fame, giving their opinion or account of something or other that didn’t really have anything to do with Olivia. No one is thinking about her. Not one person cares one bit about the little girl locked in a glass box being tortured and maimed in the name of protecting human lives.

  Fumbling under the blanket, she finds her phone, logs on and sends Gil Harley’s website an anonymous response. It was one question:

  If someone succeeded in killing Olivia, would they be charged with murder?

  Somewhere in the background a phone is going off.

  “Hello?” Safia rubs her eyes. She must have fallen asleep.

  “So, how does it feel to be a celebrity?”

  “Oh, hey, Rita,” she pushes herself into a sitting position and then freezes as she hears her name come out of Gil Harley’s mouth. “I…fell asleep,” she whispers, trying to focus on what he’s saying.

  “So, that’s it, folks…all the current news on the most important debate going on right now in Washington. As promised, here are some of your opinions from our poll.”

  “What did he say?” she asks.

  “I can’t believe you missed it! Someone on the council…Dr. Jay Davies or something like that, was telling Gil how there was only going to be one witness allowed to testify to the council…you! He said you were practically Olivia’s foster mother and so had a lot of insight into her behavior that no one else would have.”

  “Oh,” Safia suddenly feels exposed and is glad her curtains are pulled shut.

  “You have your flight and everything set?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. You need a ride to the airport?”

  “Sure. That’d be great.”

  “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll work it out. Get some sleep, huh?”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  As the credits roll, recorded public responses are being played. Safia feels the unsteadiness of Olivia’s world as if the earth were actually rumbling beneath them. One life. One fate. Public opinion is not being kind.

  “Look, either you’re human or you’re not,” an angry male voice declares. “There’s no in between…it’s like being pregnant, you are or you aren’t. She’s not human, period, no matter who her mama is.”

  A pause and then a softer woman’s voice plays. “Just the fact that she has a biological mother who is a chimpanzee is creepy. I wouldn’t want her around my kids.”

  “I feel sorry for her, I really do, but feelings aside I just can’t say I believe she’s human.”

  And so it went.

  Safia wonders if they are just ignoring the people that think she is human, or if there really aren’t any. Especially in light of the fact they ignored her question.

  She flicks it off and sits in the dark, trying to breathe.

  Chapter 28

  Safia is making one last mental checklist, letting her eyes sweep over the apartment when her phone rings. The excitement of finally doing something, finally getting to help Olivia in some way is intoxicating. “Hello?”

  “Miss Raine?”

  “Yes, speaking,” she throws her bag over her shoulder and begins to make her way downstairs to wait for Rita.

  “This is Karen Brennan.”

  Safia steps off the elevator and stops cold. Why would the Chief of Staff be calling her personally?

  “Oh, hello Dr. Brennan,” she answers after a long pause.

  “I’m not sure if I should be doing this,” she begins, “telling you this, I mean. But, I received a call from the F.B.I. this morning and well, I just thought you should know. Since…you are practically her only family now.”

  “Olivia? Is something wrong?” her heart is pounding.

  “No, no…not yet. The F.B.I. is just concerned with the elevated level of threats they’ve been monitoring recently. They’ve decided it’s time to take them seriously and they want Olivia secretly moved to another quarantine facility. I think the CDC is going to transport her in a few days out of here to one of their private locations, but no one is to know where.”

  “No one?” Safia is trying not to panic, but it’s rising like a tidal wave within her. “I won’t be allowed to see her?”

  “I don’t think so,” she answers. “But, it will be safer for Olivia if no one knows where she is. That’s what they’re thinking. Or,” she sighs. “It will be safer for the people around her is what they’re thinking. I don’t know. Anyway, I just thought you deserved to know.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Brennan. I appreciate the call.”

  Safia hangs up and has to force herself not to run back to the hospital, not to get in one more hug, one more kiss before they cart Olivia away to some unknown facility. She’ll be safer, maybe, but she’ll also be terrified. It will be a new place with strangers and what will she think? Will she think Safia has abandoned her? This thought is unbearable.

  She has to get through to the Council. She has to get Olivia released. There is no other option.

  *******

  Her plane lands at nine. She hurries through security, pushes through the crowds, emerges into the shockingly cold Washington morning and hails a cab.

  “Washington Hotel, please.”

  The cabbie sighs loudly and makes some “ayyi” noise. “You sure about that, lady?”

  “Yes, I have an appointment,” she makes eye contact with him in the mirror. “Why?”

  “Just the crowds. I’ll probably have to drop you a block or so away, the roads are blocked,” he says as he pushes his way into traffic. A horn blares. His arm flicks out the window.

  “Crowds?”

  “Protesters, crazies with signs and too much time on their hands,” he spits. “All worked up about that chimp girl. Makes my job difficult.”

  Safia bites her tongue. “A block away will be fine.” Protesters? Great. Why didn’t she think about that? Gil’s show must have brought them out.Will all this public outrage sway their opinion? It has to, she supposes. Well, as far as she knows, they didn’t put a picture of her up so no one should recognize her. Still, she should try to keep a low profile.

  She checks her watch, an hour and a half should still be plenty of time to get there, check in and freshen up before the meeting. The meeting. Her heart begins to pound as she tries to push away the image of herself standing in front of the panel as they stare at her unconvinced. I’m sorry, Miss Raine, it seems you’ve wasted your time coming here. No. She shakes off the thought. Failure is not an option. She has to convince them. If only Sue were here, she thinks. Her love for Olivia was contagious. She could make them understand; make them see Olivia as a little girl and not some created monster. It is up to her now, and she can’t let Olivia or Sue down. She closes her eyes and practices her speech silently, visualizing the panel being receptive to what she has to say, visualizing their smiles and nods of un
derstanding. Yes, they say, we see your point. She feels herself relaxing.

  As promised, the cab stops a block behind the hotel. She pays him silently and follows his directions down the city sidewalk. She pulls her scarf tighter, adjusts her bag on her shoulder. The fresh air and mindlessness of a walk is a welcomed change from the stuffy cab ride.

  She turns a corner and approaches the hotel from the right side. She can immediately see that the main road in front is barricaded with long wooden horses and police cars are lined up along the side of the street. There is the distant sound of traffic and, as she moves closer, the hum of hundreds of voices. She is walking downhill toward the barricades, so she has a good view of the scene.The wide cobblestone sidewalk in front of the hotel is alive with bodies wrapped up for warmth, bodies with leather coats pacing, bodies in knitted hats and mittens thrusting signs, bodies with mouths wrapped in scarves chatting and laughing. So much energy and color is packed into this space along the edges of the hotel’s freshly clipped lawn that Safia has to stop to admire the whole of it. It really is an amazing sight. This is what it is to be alive, to be human, she thinks, standing there with the wind stinging her eyes. This right to feel passion and act on it freely…and then she sighs and keeps moving. As long as it doesn’t impede on someone else’s life.

  She finds an edge at the corner of the protest and wedges herself in, trying to stay close to the grass, using it as a guide to the front entrance. Eventually she elbows through the crowd, through the police checkpoint and into the silence of the lobby, which is like stepping into a hallowed out marble block. She nods at one of the front guards, her heels echoing off the hard flooring as she makes her way past burgundy leather couches and greenery to the front desk.

  “Hi, I have a reservation. Safia Raine.”

  “All right, Miss Raine,” the girl smiles politely. “We’ll get you taken care of.” Safia looks around as the girl fiddles with the computer. The lobby is crowded. She supposes some of them are reporters.

  “Here you go.” The girl hands her a plastic card. “Room 314. Enjoy your stay.”

  “Thank you,” Safia says. “Oh, can you tell me where the President’s Council is meeting?”

  She glances at her suspiciously. Maybe they’ve had reporters try to sneak in already?

  “I’m not a reporter,” she says, trying to reassure her. “I have an appointment with them at 11:00.”

  “Oh, yes, they did mention you were coming. Conference room seven. Take a right at the elevators, pass the dining hall and it will be the third entrance on your left.”

  “Thank you.”

  She steps off the elevator into a chandeliered hallway with red diamond pattern carpet. Her steps are muffled here as she scans the doors for room 314. Finding the right door, she swipes the key card, hears the door click open and then…a sharp blow to the back of her head makes her world spin and fade to black.

  *******

  Even through the heavy cream curtains, the sunlight assaults Safia’s eyes as she tries to open them. She blinks and moans, feeling a rush of fear as she tries to move her hands out from beneath her, realizing they are bound. The back of her skull is pulsing, and feels like it’s been set on fire and has a damp, sticky sensation. There’s a wad of material stuffed in her mouth, so she has to breathe through her nose.

  Oh my god, have I been kidnapped? Are they still in the room? She frantically tries to listen for any noise behind her but she can only hear a steady thrum of her own pain. She tries to roll over in the bed, feels the sensation of a knife stabbing her skull and then screams into the gag, nausea rising up into her throat. Panic and tears come hard as she does hear someone moving across the room behind her.

  “You’re awake.”

  Safia tries to focus on the man who is now standing just feet from her in front of the curtained window. His figure keeps shifting and blurring and she fears she will be sick.

  “Sorry about that bump on your head. You just lay there and be a good girl for now and there won’t be need for any more violence.”

  He moves away and then returns dragging a desk chair with him. Safia tries to think through the white terror that’s gripping her but it has blown all thought from her mind, clearing it like a nuclear bomb. All that remains are the shock waves.

  “I haven’t really thought this part out,” the man says, as if confiding in a friend. He places the chair in front of the bed and lowers himself into it. She can see him now. He doesn’t look familiar, though he’s wearing a ball cap and a beard. “I just wanted to stop you from talking to the Council.” He shrugs. His mouth bends into a crooked grin. “Mission accomplished.” Safia looks away and then squeezes her eyes shut, something deflates within her, darkens. “Sorry, honey,” he continues. “You seem like a nice enough lady, but that thing that’s been created is not going to get out of that hospital alive. Don’t you see how big a threat it is to the human race?”

  Safia hears the hate in his words and forces herself to open her eyes. In the back of her mind, she can now hear her own voice: don’t stare at him he’ll feel threatened he’ll think you can identify him and kill you. She ignores these warnings because she has to look into this face.It represents the war against Olivia, it represents human ignorance and hate and fear. It represents everything she will have to fight to save Olivia’s life. If she can understand it, she can fight it. She sees nothing in his eyes, no clue, no raging demon, she sees only a man. Then she remembers Giorgio’s words:

  ‘Man’s driving force, my dear, is still survival…not profit.’

  A threat to their very survival, this is what they feel when they look at Olivia, not the love that she does. How can she fight that? How can she get them to see past their fear to the fact that Olivia has a right to live, not because she is human or not human…but because she is. Because she exists.

  He gets up, maybe to avoid her stare, she thinks, but then he comes back with a cup. “Here, sit up, you should have some water.” He grabs her shoulders roughly and pulls her up, her head falling against the headboard. She screams again as the pain shifts into unbearable from being moved. When she stops screaming he sits down on the bed beside her and removes the wad of cloth from her mouth. She gasps for breath. “Don’t even think about screaming again,” he warns. “I’m trying to be nice here, don’t make me hurt you.” He lifts the cup to her mouth. She lets her mouth fill with the warm tap water and then as he pulls the cup away, she spits it into his face. The back of his hand lands hard on the side of her head as he spits the word bitch back at her.

  The room is spinning, the colors blending together and disappearing in a flashing, pulsing light. It is pulsing to a heavy handed beat rapping her skull. She feels the bed moving beneath her, feels the wet wad being shoved back into her mouth, feels his rage as a physical force crushing her. He grabs her legs and pulls her back into a laying position, his hands crushing her shins and then her thighs and then her waist.

  There is a sharp knock at the door. All motion stops. She hears herself whimper. She hears him come back to his senses and curse. “I do have a gun,” he whispers into her ear. His breath is hot and sour. “So, don’t…even…think about making a sound.” He is trying to be quiet. She is trying not to lose consciousness. She forces her eyes to open; she can no longer see solid matter—the room, the kidnapper, the very air is shifting patterns of tiny colored lights.

  The knocking becomes louder, more desperate. Puddles of red sway around the kidnapper’s outline. There is a loud crack and a third figure bursts into the room. The man above her roars and the room once again shifts back into matter and shadows.

  There is a black panther…no, it’s a man…moving toward them quickly, his face concealed in a black ski mask. Safia rolls her head to watch the kidnapper make a desperate dive for the dresser but he doesn’t make it. The other man swiftly pounces on him, his lithe shadowy body throwing the man into the window. A loud thud. Safia can’t fight the darkness much longer. It’s pulling her in. Her e
yes flutter as the kidnapper lets out a sharp yelp and falls to the floor.

  *******

  “Safia.”

  She is pulled from the darkness by a voice. A voice that is light in her mind, warmth in her ear.

  “Safia…tenez sur mon amour…hold on. You are not finished here.”

  I will. There is no strength to push the words forth on her breath.She hopes he heard them anyway.

  Chapter 29

  Beep beep beep.

  Safia breathes in deeply, her lungs expand and she sighs. She was having such a lovely dream.

  Beep beep beep.

  What was it? Someone was laughing with her, holding her hand. There were children chattering behind her. Olivia was there, she was whole and smiling. The surrounding noises are beginning to intrude; the insistent monitor begins to chase away the scene playing out in her mind.

  “Olivia?” She tries to move her arm, to scratch her face but it is too heavy. Why is her mouth so dry? And then, as if a dam broke, the memory of her kidnapping comes rushing at her. She gasps and tries to sit up.

  “Whoa, whoa,” a worried voice says.

  Panting now, she opens her eyes and sees that she’s in a hospital room, tucked safety into crisp white sheets, but it is not her hospital. A uniformed officer is moving toward her bedside.

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re at Washington Hospital Center.” He sounds relieved, but he is looking at her like he is waiting for something.

  “How did I get here?”

  He hesitates. “Do you remember being attacked in your hotel room?”

  She nods, reaching up and feeling the bandage wrapped around her head. “He hit me on the back of the head when I opened the door.” And then she remembers why and lets her hand fall like dead weight onto the bed. “Oh no, what day is this?”

  “Wednesday.”