Legion

by Robert Swartwood

  “Why are we here?”

  “Dear?”

  “Why am I here with you? Shouldn’t I ... shouldn’t I be at work?”

  Her mother just frowned at her. “Why are you asking all these questions?”

  “Is our little girl up?”

  Her father walked through the French doors leading in from the living room. He wore his reading glasses and carried an iPad. He smiled at her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Feeling better?”

  Her mother said, “I think she’s still running a fever.”

  The smile dropped from her father’s face. “Well, that’s not good. Maybe you should go back to bed.”

  Ashley quickly stood up, the legs of the stool scraping loudly against the hardwood floor.

  “I want to know what’s going on here.”

  Her parents exchanged a confused look.

  “Honey,” her mother said, “we don’t know what you mean.”

  “Everything”—Ashley shook her head, trying to get a sense of everything that had happened and all that was happening now—“it doesn’t make sense.”

  “What doesn’t make sense?” her father asked.

  “Everything after Melissa’s death.”

  Her parents exchanged another look, only this one was filled with sadness.

  “Yes,” her father said softly, “we were sorry to hear about that.”

  “Such a tragedy,” her mother agreed.

  “That’s why we came up here.” Her father forced a smile. “You said it was too difficult to deal with and you wanted to get away, so we drove up. Then you came down with a fever and have been in bed most of the time.”

  Ashley was shaking her head. “No. No, that’s not what happened.”

  Her mother frowned. “Dear?”

  “Melissa—”

  “Yes,” her father said, “we know what Melissa did. It’s awful, but what’s done is done. I know it hurts, especially as she was a close friend and you just had lunch with her the other day, but we need to do our best to push forward.”

  “What about Jeff?”

  “Who?”

  “I worked with him at the paper. He died.”

  “Oh dear,” her mother said. “What happened?”

  “He was killed.”

  Another exchanged glance between her parents.

  “Ashley,” her father said, “are you sure this wasn’t in your nightmare?”

  “My ... what?”

  “You were having a nightmare earlier. You kept tossing and turning in bed, talking in your sleep. Your mother tried waking you to get you to eat some soup. Don’t you remember?”

  Ashley wasn’t sure what to say. A nightmare? Yes, everything that had happened was a nightmare in one way or another. But it had been real. Hadn’t it? Yes, it had. Or at least she thought it had been real. Only ...

  “Melissa,” she whispered.

  Another hesitant glance between her parents, and then her father, frowning: “Yes?”

  “How did you know I had lunch with her?”

  Her father hesitated. “You told us you did. When you came over to our place Monday night.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, dear,” her mother said. “You told us about her father and how he had ... well, how he had taken his own life.”

  Ashley was shaking her head again. “No, I purposely didn’t mention Melissa. So how did you know it was her?”

  The look that crossed between her parents this time was filled with desperation. They both appeared completely lost, unsure what to say or do next. First her mother opened her mouth to speak, then her father shook his head and motioned at her to stop.

  Ashley began backing away from them. “What’s happening? What’s going on? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Ashley”—her father attempted a small smile—“you realize your mother and I love you very much, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” her mother said, nodding vigorously, “we love you deeply. And we, we, we would never want anything to happen to you.”

  Ashley kept backing away from them. She didn’t know where she was going, exactly, only that she wanted—needed—to get away from her parents.

  “We can make this work,” her father said. “I promise you, we can make this work.”

  His words didn’t make sense to her. She wasn’t sure why, until an instant passed and she realized he wasn’t even speaking to her. He was facing her, yes, but his gaze was focused on something behind her.

  A second later she went to take another step back but couldn’t go any farther. Something solid stopped her. She turned around to find she had walked into a man. Another man stood beside him. She thought she recognized one of them but couldn’t be sure. Both had guns in their hands.

  One of the men released a weary sigh. “Guess it’s time for Plan B.”

  fifty-three

  We stand against the railing and stare out over the water. The ferry moves at a moderate pace. Several people are outside their vehicles, while a few others wait inside by themselves or with friends or family. Where Eli and I stand, nobody is nearby, which is just as well as our conversation probably isn’t suited for innocent ears.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” Eli says.

  Watching the island as we approach it, I nod distantly. “Of course you do.”

  “Believe it or not, I’ve been truthful about everything else so far. Yes, granted I may have not been so forthcoming with some of the truth, but eventually I told you everything.”

  “I guess that makes everything okay, then.”

  He ignores my sarcasm. “The work Marta and I and the others were initially doing, to try to cure autism, it all narrowed down to trying to perfect cells. It certainly wasn’t an easy task, and it took years of research, not to mention the decades of research that had been done before us, and quite honestly, I doubt they’ve succeeded yet. If there is a cure for autism, don’t expect anyone to know about it.”

  “Eli?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How about sticking to the point.”

  “Right. So anyway, when Marta and I began investigating what Matheson was up to, we came across several files that detailed projects which were ... extraordinary, to say the least. These researchers were continuing with the manipulation of cells, only they were trying to change them at will.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning they tried to isolate different cells during the embryonic period. Cells that would determine a person’s height, weight, even their hair color. What Matheson ultimately wanted to do was isolate the neural stem cell that would eventually form an individual’s fear. Not just the amygdala, which some believe is the fear center of the brain, but every cell associated with the emotion of fear. Matheson believed that while everyone has the fight-or-flight instinct, it’s possible to tweak it so that flight is never an option.”

  “So let me get this straight. You’re saying that essentially these people would experience no fear?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Matheson’s ultimate task—what he had been hired to do by this new backer—was to create an army. And what good are soldiers if they experience fear?”

  “Everyone experiences fear.”

  “Do you?”

  He’s watching me from the corner of his eye, and it gives me pause.

  I turn to him, leaning against the railing. “Yes, of course I experience fear. Just the other day I was afraid I was going lose my job. I was afraid what would happen to David unless we saved him.”

  “But those are base fears. Being afraid of losing your job is something everyone has, because they’re expected to. The same with fear for the safety of loved ones. I’m talking about true, animalistic fear. Tell me, when the barrel of David’s gun was pointed at your face, were you afraid?”

  I say nothing. I think about what Duncan said to me right before he died—how I had a death wish. Maybe it wasn’t a death wish, after all. Maybe it wa
s just that death didn’t scare me.

  “Remember in the parking garage, how you wanted to head straight back to the hospital? You’ve never been afraid a day in your life. Just like your sister.”

  This catches me off guard.

  “Who?”

  “Melissa. I believe she was much like you. The rest of you kids not so much. But Melissa had no fear. That’s what made her a great lawyer. She could face the most hardened criminals and not even blink. Her family, though, was her only weakness. I believe she loved and cared for her husband and children very much. If she had any fear, it was the base fear that something might someday happen to them.”

  The ferry bounces up and down as we head closer and closer to Martha’s Vineyard. Judging from the distance and our speed, we’ll be there in less than ten minutes.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I want there to be no more secrets between us. Plus, I thought you should know so that way you can be careful.”

  “You don’t think I’m careful?”

  He gives me a dry look. “You’re entire life has been riddled with careless mistakes.”

  “Is this supposed to be a pep talk?”

  “I knew it when you were a kid. When your mother had you children at the house in Georgia. You would climb the trees in the backyard as high as you could. You always tried going higher.”

  “I fell from one of those trees. Broke my leg.”

  “That’s right. By then I was out of your life, but I always checked in with Marta. She told me what happened. I was curious to hear what you would do once your leg healed. And do you remember what you did?”

  I nod, remembering it perfectly, but say nothing.

  “You climbed that tree again. You didn’t even hesitate. Don’t you understand what fear is? A child touches a hot stove, that child knows the stove is hot and not to touch it again. He becomes afraid of the stove. That’s where we learn fear, from experience. But you, John, you just climbed that tree again. You experienced pain and knew what could happen, but you didn’t care. You learned from the mistake, and you pushed on.”

  The island is very close now. Everyone else has begun drifting toward their cars.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I say. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I don’t want to see you die. You may not be afraid of these people or what we’re about to do, but you should be.”

  “But don’t you think it’s a good thing, if it’s true? If fear is such a weakness, then I’m better off not having it.”

  “That’s the major flaw in Matheson’s work. An army without fear would soon be a dead army. It’s only until they understand fear is vital to their existence will they survive.”

  Eli pulls something from his jacket pocket, places it in my hand.

  “And in the end, John, we should all want to survive.”

  He doesn’t wait for a reply and slides past me toward the Buick. I watch him go, holding the lighter he just gave me. It’s much like the one he first gave me at that truck stop and which I later gave to Ashley, only this one isn’t nearly as heavy. I weigh it in my hand for a couple more seconds, then toss it over the side where it bounces with the waves like a tiny ship about to capsize.

  • • •

  We drive by the house once without stopping, just to check it out. It’s an impressive two-story overlooking the water. The thing probably costs a couple million dollars. In the driveway are two cars. One is a silver Mercedes. The other is a black SUV.

  Eli says, “One is not like the other.”

  We do a U-turn at the end of the road and head back. The rest of the homes are quiet. A few have lights on, but nobody is outside. The sun has almost set.

  Eli parks the Buick along the street and cuts the engine. “Remember, from here on out, don’t worry about what happens to me. It’s the others that are the priority. It’s the others that you must save.”

  I’m gripping the gun in my lap a little too tightly. My thumb touches the safety as I think back to Hoboken, the cop standing over me, and how in that instant I thought I was going to die but wasn’t afraid.

  “John.”

  I blink, tear my gaze away from the gun. “Yeah?”

  “Are you sure you can do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He reaches for the door. “Now let’s go see if anybody’s home.”

  fifty-four

  The men with the guns told her to walk to the living room.

  Ashley looked around the kitchen, searching out anything she could use as a weapon or some form of escape. But then her gaze settled on her mother’s face and the sadness in her mother’s eyes, and Ashley knew it was no use. It was no accident these men happened to show up when they did. They had been here the entire time. Ashley hadn’t been having any nightmare, at least none of the sleep variety. Everything that had happened had truly happened, and these men had taken her from the hospital and brought her here to her parents’ summer home. And her parents—her parents!—played along with whatever story they had been fed.

  “Mom?”

  Her mother just shook her head. Tears began to well up in her eyes.

  One of the men behind her said, “Move,” and shoved her forward.

  “Hey,” her father said loudly. “There’s no need for that.”

  “Sorry, sir,” the man mumbled.

  A hand touched her back again and pushed her forward, this time more gently.

  Ashley started moving. Past the counter and her mother. Past her father who couldn’t seem to meet her eye. Into the living room where there was a small fire going in the fireplace, the flames licking the stone and crackling the wood.

  “The couch,” one of the men said, and Ashley, purely out of spite, lowered herself into one of the leather armchairs facing the fire.

  Her parents shuffled into the living room, her father holding her mother’s arm for support. They sat on the couch. Her mother had begun to cry silent tears. Her father comforted her mother as best he could, telling her that it was okay, that everything would be all right, and then looked up at the two men and motioned at Ashley.

  “May I?”

  One of the men nodded for her father to go ahead.

  Before her father could speak, though, Ashley asked the two men, “Are you going to shoot me?”

  Neither man answered.

  “If you’re not going to shoot me, can you at least put away the guns?”

  The men didn’t look like they were going to give her any response. Then, after a moment, the one man holstered his gun, followed by the second man.

  “Thanks,” Ashley said. “Oh, and while you’re at it, you can go fuck yourselves.”

  “Ashley,” her mother gasped.

  Her father was shaking his head. “Ashley, these men are not here to harm you. They’re simply here to ... make sure everything goes according to plan.”

  “Really? Because I’m pretty sure they’re responsible for Melissa and her family’s death.” She looked up at the two men. “How did you do it? How did you make it look like a murder-suicide?”

  Neither man answered.

  Her father said, “Ashley, don’t make this any harder than it has to be. These men are here to help you.”

  “Help me?” She wanted to laugh. “They’ve been trying to kill me.”

  “Ms. Walker,” one of the men said, “I can assure you that isn’t the case. There has been some ... confusion about certain matters that your parents are now going to explain.”

  “Confusion?” Ashley looked from the men to her parents and then back to the men. “You mean about Melissa and her family being murdered?”

  A tissue box sat on the coffee table. Her mother leaned forward and plucked a tissue and immediately began dabbing her eyes. Her father placed his arm around her, kissed her head, took a deep breath.

  “Ashley, your mother and I love you very much. It was always our dream when we first got married to have a child. Several
children, in fact. But, well, this wasn’t meant to be. Your mother and I were heartbroken. We wanted a child to share our life and our legacy with. We looked into adoption and considered a number of agencies. But then ... we became aware of another route.”

  Ashley didn’t know why it had taken this long, but everything began falling into place. “No,” she said quietly. “This ... this can’t be happening.”

  “I don’t know what you’ve been told, but nothing bad ever happened to you, even before you came into our lives.”

  Ashley started shaking her head, her body now trembling, the entire room beginning to shift and tilt around her. She tried standing but her legs had gone weak and she fell back down onto the armchair.

  “I know this is difficult to accept,” her father said, “but just remember that your mother and I love you. We did everything we could to make sure you had the very best life possible. And you did, didn’t you? You had a great childhood. You have a great life.”

  Her body still trembling, her head still shaking, Ashley attempted to stand once more. This time she managed to stay up, despite the weakness in her legs.

  The men with the guns started to take a step forward, either to help keep her steady or push her back down onto the chair.

  Her father said, “Don’t,” and raised a hand to stop them.

  The men stopped.

  Ashley said, “I ... you ... no ...”

  Her mother was openly weeping now. She plucked another tissue from the box and blew her nose.

  “It’s going to be difficult at first,” her father said. “We understand that it will be hard to accept the truth. But just remember that we love you. Remember that you will always be safe.”

  She wanted to run away. She wanted to scream. She wanted to grab one of the men’s guns and use it to shoot herself in the head. It was such a wild, irrational thought, but after everything she had gone through, after everything she had learned, to find out that she had been ...

  No. She refused to accept that. She refused to believe she had been a test tube baby. Born in a lab. Born for purposes other than what she eventually became.