Eve & Adam

by Michael Grant

  I don’t wake up well at two in the morning.

  “Solo.”

  My eyes widen. It’s Terror her own self. At 2:14 in the morning. And suddenly I am acutely aware of the fact that I am not dressed, not at all, and without meaning to I glance toward where the security camera is.

  I don’t worry about walking around naked. First, ninety-nine percent of security footage is never seen by anyone. It just goes straight into the servers. And second, on those rare occasions when camera footage is played, it’s for a bored security guy.

  Anyway, I just don’t have much of a modesty thing.

  Unless it’s Herself, the Mighty One, the Evil Queen herself, calling me in the middle of the night.

  “Yeah?” I say, because it’s all I can come up with.

  “I need you. Be at the south elevator, Level Two.”

  “When?”

  “Now.”

  “Now?”

  “Am I stuttering? Now.”

  I hesitate, trying to get the processors up to speed.

  “I’ve already called two other employees, both of whom were unable or unwilling to respond. Both of whom are now former employees.”

  “I’m on my way,” I say.

  Click.

  “What the hell?” I ask my room. I feel perfectly and completely awake and yet I manage to pull my jeans on backward anyway. And where did I leave my shirt? Does it smell? Are there clean ones in my closet? Yes, there’s one.

  Find the front of the shirt. Okay. Good. Shoes.

  I’m more or less dressed and I barrel out into the hallway, bleary, hair all over the place, no socks, underwear, or belt. My left eye has apparently been glued shut, but I am on the move.

  I reach the elevator and ride it down to the second floor, which is the main reception area. Elevators coming from the parking garage come here first. It’s an amazingly impressive, intimidating space, a soaring four-story-tall atrium with a massive double helix floating in the air, all glowing colors and soft pulsations.

  The lights are down, with soft spots on the elevator doors and the sweep of the reception desk. There’s a security guy sitting there, surprised to see me. He’s just thinking of asking me why I’m there when we hear the click-click of Terra’s high heels.

  The guard quickly straightens his tie, shoots me a look, and stands up as Terra sweeps in.

  Honestly, how does she manage to be that put-together at this hour? Sure, Eve mentioned she was at a spa all day, but it’s two-something in the morning and the woman looks like she just stepped off the cover of Hot ’N’ Scary Moms magazine.

  She stares hard at me, like she’s caught me doing something. I flush with guilt because there are so many possibilities.

  “That damned girl,” she says. “She’s here.”

  Really? She’s referring to her own daughter as “that damned girl?” That seems harsh, even for Terra Spiker.

  “I was in the middle of work,” Terra continues.

  At two in the morning? I think, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “And now, you’ll notice, I am not in the middle of work.”

  The elevator dings. The door slides open. There’s a plainclothes security guy—instantly recognizable by the MIB suit and the earpiece. And the gun bulge under his jacket.

  He has a tight grip on Aislin’s arm.

  I start to grin at Aislin. Then I see. Her nose has been split, right across the bridge. One eye is red and puffy and will soon be black. There’s a welt on her neck, a shoulder strap that was obviously torn and then retied hastily. There’s blood on a patch of scalp where someone has torn her hair out.

  The guard and Aislin step off the elevator. He’s still holding her arm in his big fist like she’s a threat.

  “What a surprise to see you, Aislin,” Terra says in a voice that could freeze oxygen.

  For once Aislin is at a loss for words. She’s been crying. She sees Terra, winces, and her eyes slide over to find me. For a second there’s a look of total vulnerability. It’s hard to see: She’s not the vulnerable type.

  “A surprise to see you, not a surprise to see you in trouble,” Terra says. “And you wonder why I don’t want my daughter dealing with you? Look at yourself.”

  “Leave her alone.” The words are out of my mouth before I know it.

  Both security guys suffer simultaneous heart attacks. No one breathes. Terra glares incredulously at me. I see a faintly amused look in Aislin’s eyes. And gratitude.

  Terra lets it go after no more than a single sharp intake of breath. “Aislin will be spending the night, Solo,” she says. “Find her a room. Do not wake Evening. She’s still recuperating and doesn’t need… this.”

  The word “this” is drenched in venom.

  “Twenty-four hours,” Terra tells Aislin, manicured finger puncturing the air. “And only because my daughter would hate me if I didn’t.”

  She clickety-clacks ten paces away, stops, half-turns, and says, “And page Dr. Anderson, Solo. The girl’s a mess.”

  And then she vanishes.

  “Hey, Solo,” Aislin says sheepishly, as the guard walks away.

  “Let’s go get Eve,” I say.

  “No, no, no, you heard her mom.”

  “Yeah, well, Terra can go… she can drop dead. Something bad happened with you. You came here to see Eve, not me.”

  She half-leans against me. She smells like booze and cigarettes. “You’re a good guy. I hope E.V. figures that out.”

  I ignore her.

  No, I don’t exactly ignore her. It’s more like an arrow’s been shot into my chest and I find myself kind of startled and breathless and, I don’t know, I don’t know what that other emotion is. Like something I didn’t know was in me, and then suddenly there it is.

  I walk Aislin down the hallway. She’s leaning on me and she’s wobbly but I don’t think it’s from drink. I think she’s holding on by her fingernails.

  “Did you call the cops?”

  “Long story,” she says.

  “Because you should—”

  We pass the nurses’ station. “We’re going to see Eve,” I say. “Evening.”

  The nurse leaps to her feet. “That girl needs attention.”

  “Page Dr. Anderson,” I say.

  “I’m good,” Aislin says, waving her hand vaguely.

  Eve’s door is open, but I knock anyway. It takes a couple rounds before she wakes up.

  “Yeah?” she calls.

  “It’s Solo. I’m with Aislin.”

  “What?”

  “Hi, E.V.,” Aislin calls.

  “What… just come in, will you?”

  Eve looks about like I probably looked twenty minutes ago. Like she can only open one eye. And there’s possible drool in the left corner of her mouth.

  Why do I find that kind of hot? Seriously. Sleep drool.

  She sits up. She’s wearing a too-small T-shirt. Her hair is all on one side of her head.

  Her eyes widen. She barely notices me. Aislin staggers over to the bed and just sort of melts into her arms. It’s a long hug. I stand in the doorway, staring at my feet.

  I’m thinking it’s time for me to sneak away quietly when Eve looks at me over Aislin’s shoulder, frowns, and jerks her head a little, indicating that I should come in.

  I do. Feeling like I’m entering the Holy of Holies.

  Oh my God. I’ve never been in a girl’s room before. It smells different in here. It smells good.

  Still, the realization is disheartening somehow. All of this is new to me. Including the acknowledgment that it’s all new to me.

  “Aislin,” Eve says softly. “Oh, Aislin.”

  The nurse appears in the doorway. “Dr. Anderson’s on his way,” she says. “And you’re in no condition to be having visitors in the middle of the night.”

  “Please,” Eve says, stroking Aislin’s hair, “leave us.”

  The nurse wrings her hands.

  “Two minutes,” Eve snaps, and the nurse retreats.

/>   There’s some of her mother in Eve, I realize with a shock. I’ve never seen it in her before, but when she wants to, Eve can summon up that same voice of command and control.

  “So?” Eve asks Aislin.

  Aislin won’t meet her eyes.

  Eve looks at me. I start answering before I realize I’m doing it.

  “Your mother woke me, told me to meet her at the elevator. Aislin came up. I’m supposed to find her a place to stay.”

  Eve hears what I didn’t say. “My mother told you to bring her here, to me?”

  “No. Actually she told me absolutely not to do that.”

  Eve’s forbidding expression softens.

  “I don’t always do exactly what I’m told,” I say.

  “Well, thanks,” she says.

  I comb my fingers through my hair. It’s tangled up, even by my standards, which are pretty low. “I should get going.”

  “Stay,” Eve says firmly, going all Terra on me again. She winces, looks down, smiles a little. “I mean, please stay, if you don’t mind.”

  I grab a chair. “Sure. No problem.” I was hoping she’d say that.

  “Tell me, Aislin,” Eve says gently.

  “They came to Maddox’s apartment.” Aislin takes a shuddery breath. “I was there. They started banging. Crazy. Threatening him. They broke a window and someone must have called the cops. Which was lucky because they got in. The gangbangers, not the cops, I mean. I tried to… so one of them…” She mimes a punch. She started strong, but now the narrative is breaking up. She’s breathing hard, as if the whole thing’s happening all over again.

  “The guy, so he hit me, and I fell down. Kicked me in… Maddox, they had him, the other guys, and they were tying him down. He was yelling for help. I tried. My phone. Then, wham again. A gun and they were pointing it. Maddox. Then the sirens and I ran, I got out of the door and down the stairs and I was going to get the cops to come and help. Confused, because of being hit and all.”

  Eve looks at me.

  There’s a knock on Eve’s door. It’s Dr. Anderson with the nurse, who’s carrying a tray of bandages and sutures.

  “Jeez,” the doctor says. He is wearing a pair of red silk pajamas. His feet are bare.

  Dr. Anderson moves Aislin to a spot where the light is better, over by the desk. He peers sideways at her nose. The cut looks bad. The nurse tsk-tsks under her breath.

  The doctor pulls on rubber gloves, prodding the wound. “Yep. It’ll definitely need stitches, young lady. But first let’s get a radiograph, make sure nothing’s broken.”

  Aislin doesn’t complain. She’s kind of gone somewhere else in her head.

  The nurse and doctor help her out the door. “It’ll only take a minute,” the nurse says.

  “You stay put,” Dr. Anderson admonishes Eve. “You’ve had enough fun for one day.”

  “It wasn’t all fun,” I offer.

  Eve presses her lips together, suppressing a smile.

  “Should I go?” I ask Eve when they’ve left. “I mean, there’s nothing more I can do, I guess.”

  Eve adjusts her sheets. “It’d be okay if you stick around,” she says casually. I can’t tell if she wants me around or not. “I might need backup while I’m reading Aislin the riot act.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I say, matching her tone. “I’m totally wide awake, anyway.”

  We sit in silence. The mirror has get-well cards taped to it. There are flowers everywhere. Girl things are scattered around the room: a makeup kit, a bottle of perfume, something unidentifiable that’s beige and silky.

  Aislin returns with the nurse and doctor. “Nothing broken,” he reports. “Think we can put Humpty Dumpty together again.” He yawns widely. “Nurse, you can finish up. The Ambien’s kicking in again.”

  Aislin settles in a leather chair as the nurse prepares her equipment.

  “Listen, sweetie,” Eve begins in a lecturing voice. She hears it herself and I can see it makes her uncomfortable. But she has to go on. I want her to go on. Someone has got to tell Aislin what’s what.

  “This has to stop, Aislin. You know it. I know it. The whole world knows it. You’re going to end up hurt.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Aislin says. But there’s no force to her words. She doesn’t believe what she’s saying.

  “I know you care about Maddox,” Eve says. “But this can’t go on.”

  “I’m going to numb you up,” the nurse says.

  Aislin is crying. I don’t think it’s from pain.

  Before long the nurse leaves. Aislin’s nose looks a little like Eve’s leg. It’s a mess of white bandages.

  Aislin gets up to examine herself in the mirror. “Ugh, how long do I have to look like this?”

  “Look how fast my face healed up,” Eve offers.

  “It’s going to take Aislin a lot longer than it took you,” I say. It’s out of my mouth. Too late to call it back now. For a second I think no one will say anything.

  “Why should it take her longer?” Eve asks. It’s like I’ve dissed Aislin.

  I don’t answer. I hang my head, elbows on my knees.

  “Solo?” Eve presses. “Why aren’t you answering me?”

  I look up through my eyebrows. I look pointedly at the bathroom. “In there.” I mouth the words soundlessly.

  To my relief, both of them catch on immediately.

  “Can you grab my wheelchair?” Eve asks me.

  “Try standing,” I suggest.

  She gives me a skeptical frown. “Are you kidding? No way.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll play crutch,” I say, shrugging. Like it’s a hardship.

  I slip my arm around Eve and help her hobble into the bathroom. Aislin follows, moving unsteadily.

  With the door closed, it’s cramped but not too bad: The suite is roomy and so is the bathroom. I rummage in the medicine cabinet, then in the drawers. I pull out a pair of scissors.

  “What are you doing?” Eve asks.

  I kneel in front of her. “Which is easier? Hike up or drop trou?”

  She sees what I’m getting at. With a rather baleful expression on her face, Eve slides the pajama bottoms down. They puddle around her ankles.

  “That’s what you wear for panties?” Aislin protests.

  “They’re comfortable.”

  I have no comment. I am content to swallow hard.

  The thick bandages extend from her ankle to her upper thigh. Her upper, upper thigh. Very carefully, hands trembling, I pull the edge of the bandage away from her thigh and insert the scissors, point down.

  Aislin runs her index finger along her bandaged nose. “You know, now that I think about it, it’s weird, the way they didn’t give you a cast for that leg.”

  “Actually, it’s not so weird,” I say.

  “What are you doing?” Eve asks. But not with any serious intent. Not like she’s actually going to stop me. There’s a quaver in her voice.

  I cut.

  Down the inside of her thigh.

  I reach the place where the leg was severed. I roll the bandage down to expose it.

  The three of us stare.

  The bathroom light is unforgiving.

  Where her leg had been crudely ripped apart—skin shredded, bone snapped, muscle meat torn like a turkey drumstick—there is smooth, unblemished white skin.

  – 19 –

  “There isn’t even a scar,” Aislin murmurs.

  We all stare for a while. I extend shaking fingers toward my leg.

  I need to touch to believe.

  The skin isn’t even bumpy. It’s not just smooth. It’s absolutely identical to the way it was before the accident.

  I push the bandages down farther. It’s like taking off a very tight legging. All the way to my knee, just in case, just in case memory is playing some weird trick on me.

  “We’re awake, right?” I ask.

  Solo stands up. He sets the scissors on the counter. “It’s been like this for days. By the second day everything was fine. By
the third day the scars would have already been disappearing. Day four?” He lifts his shoulders. “There can be variations, it’s not an exact thing.”

  Aislin seems to have forgotten her own injuries. “That’s not possible. Is it?”

  “Solo,” I say. He has the answers. I can tell.

  “Have you ever had a scrape or a skinned knee that lasted more than a day?” he asks.

  “Um… I don’t know.” I scroll back over a lifetime of Band-Aids. “Who keeps track?”

  “Cuts? Bruises?” Solo leans back against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. “Toothaches?”

  “I’m an excellent flosser,” I say defensively.

  “Colds? Flu?”

  My heart is hammering. “I use Purell?” I say with a weak smile. “How many colds have you had in your life?”

  Solo tenses. He starts to say something, then catches himself. “We’re talking about you.”

  “She never gets sick,” Aislin says softly. “Like… never. She doesn’t even get cramps.”

  I shoot her a look.

  She holds up her hands in a placating gesture. “Well, it’s true.”

  “So I’m the picture of health. I’m lucky,” I say. Gingerly I touch my thigh.

  Solo shakes his head. “No one is that lucky.”

  “Wait! I know!” I cry triumphantly. “When I was around two I had heart surgery.” I am weirdly relieved by this fact. “It was some valve thing. Congenital. They repaired it, though. With pig tissue, actually.”

  Aislin frowns. “Like… bacon?”

  “No,” Solo says to me. “They didn’t repair it surgically.”

  “Obviously, they did. Because here I am, fine. Beyond fine.” I chew on a thumbnail, considering. “And how could you possibly know what happened when I was two, anyway?”

  Solo looks at his feet. “You didn’t have long to live, Eve,” he says. “The odds of getting a heart transplant were pretty slim. At some level, you can see why they did it. They were desperate.”

  I grab his arm. “What are you telling me?”

  “You’re a mod.” Solo touches my hand and I loosen my grip on his arm. “You’re genetically modified. It happened when you were two. It’s in your file.”