by V. E. Lemp
“I do wish you well with your exhibit, Karen.” Leena Rebani’s dark eyes had softened to their usual liquidity. “I’ve been impressed with your work ethic, so I’m sure you’ll succeed admirably, in your career as well as the show.”
“Thanks,” Karen mumbled. They were gazing at her with slightly bemused expectation, and she twitched her lips into a quick smile in response. “Well, I’d better let you two get on with your work. Thanks again for being so understanding.”
“More than happy to help,” Vance said, as Karen headed out the door as quickly as dignity would allow. “Don’t hesitate to stop by again if you need anything,” he called after her.
Karen strode away swiftly, her head down. As she turned a corner she almost plowed into Mark Hallam. She halted, once again apologizing.
“Is there a fire?” A ghost of a grin lit Hallam’s usually somber face.
“No, just a meeting with Dr. Vance.”
“Well, that explains it. I’ve wanted to flee Vance’s office more than once.”
Karen swallowed hard, taken aback by Hallam’s quip. She hadn’t had any interaction with him since the interview, when she had pegged him as a humorless bureaucrat. According to the gossip, Hallam was an up-and-coming government official, and this assignment, at age twenty-seven, was something of a coup for him. Karen didn’t see how his weekly observations of the Morpheus Project were a major rung up on any ladder, but then, she knew little about government hierarchies.
“You’re Karen, aren’t you? Karen Foster?”
“Yes, that’s right.” Karen met Hallam’s steady gaze. His brown eyes were narrowed behind his heavy glasses, but his stare, unlike that of Ian Vance, was inquisitive rather than intimidating.
“Yes, of course. I remember you from the interview. So, Vance is in his office, then?”
“Along with Dr. Rebani. To be honest, I needed a favor. They agreed to let me off the project for one night so I can attend my senior show opening.” A little diplomacy wouldn’t hurt. “They were quite nice.”
“That’s when you need to run the fastest.”
Karen leaned against the cement-block wall. The hard surface was comforting in its cool solidity. “Don’t you like them?”
“Not relevant to my job, I’m afraid. Do you? Like them, I mean?”
“I scarcely know them. It’s just a job for me too, you know.”
“Good. I don’t think you want to get too cozy with this group.”
Karen’s fingers tightened, her nails biting into her palms. What did Mark Hallam know about her relationship with the senior researchers, any of them? He wasn’t around enough to know what really went on, and anyway, he didn’t know her, not at all.
“Why not? Something wrong with us?” Karen lifted her chin and met Hallam’s stare with a steady gaze of her own.
“I’m not talking about the students. I know little about them, except what I read in the files and glean from the reports. I’m talking about the research team. Not people I’d personally recommend as role models, but that’s just me.”
“Dr. James is more than kind, and Dr. Rebani is very sweet, and Alex”—Karen couldn’t stop herself—“Alex Wythe has always been nice to me.”
“I’d be careful, Karen. Seriously. I only tell you this because there are things … things you don’t know and don’t need to know. It’s just a job, after all, and you’re soon going to graduate and move on with your life. I’d look upon this like any other part-time job—be glad for the money and forget about it when it’s over.”
“Is that your advice, then? Drawn from your vast experience?” Karen stepped away from the wall and straightened to her full height, aware she still stood several inches shorter than Hallam.
“Definitely my advice. Take it for what it’s worth. As for vast experience, I have none, at least not in this area. But I do know trouble when I see it.”
“You mean I’m trouble?” Karen moved forward until she was toe to toe with the government liaison.
“In trouble might be more like it. Just be careful of where you place your trust, Karen. That’s all I have to say. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get my weekly report from Vance and company.” Hallam deftly stepped around Karen and walked off without a goodbye.
As Karen watched him leave her anger faded into a dull throb of depression. He knew. Of course he knew. With those keenly honed observation skills, Mark Hallam had deduced her secret crush on Alex Wythe. Best to avoid Hallam in the future. Not too difficult since—as he’d so clearly pointed out—the end of the project was drawing near.
And that, of course, meant the end of her imaginary relationship with Alex. Karen strode off, her chest tightening. She dashed sudden tears away with one hand and swore repeatedly, startling Jasper James, who was strolling down the hall from the other direction.
“Anything wrong, Karen?” he asked as he passed, obviously headed to the meeting in Vance’s office.
“I’m fine,” Karen said, rather too loudly. And she would be fine, of course. She would mount her exhibit and attend her opening and graduate and everything would be fine. Perfectly fine.
When Pilar discovered her crying in her room, Karen explained away her weeping as end-of-term nerves. Pilar was either unconcerned or wise enough not to question the excuse.
Dream Journal, April 16th:
I walked alone on a wooded path. The forest was eerily quiet, with no sound of insects or animals. In a clearing, a small group of people draped nets from the tree branches. The group was dressed in identical outfits—baggy camouflage camp shirts, khaki pants, and heavy hiking boots. They’d shoved their dark hair up into black baseball caps. Androgynously slender, it was impossible to tell whether the individual members were male or female.
I asked what they were doing. One of them informed me they were trapping birds for a scientific study. I glanced at the far edge of the clearing and noticed two members of the group handling captured birds. They carefully extracted each bird from the net and placed it in a wire cage. After a few moments, when the bird had calmed its wild fluttering, it was taken from the cage and a small object was inserted in its neck using what looked like a large hypodermic needle.
“Are you harming them?” I asked.
“We do not intend to,” said one of the group, “but it sometimes happens.”
“Do they die?”
“From time to time. It is unfortunate, but the research must be completed.”
“If you’re studying them,” I said, “why not just keep them in a cage?”
“Because if you study the habits of something trapped in a cage you only learn how they behave while living in a cage. We want to learn much more. We want to understand how they behave in their own world.”
“In their own habitat, you mean.”
Heads turned, and I felt several pairs of dark eyes fix on me.
“Yes, habitat, of course,” said the figure holding the hypodermic.
“And why do this?” I asked. “What’s the point?”
“What point is there,” said the individual cradling the bird, “to art, Karen Foster?”
“This is not art. It’s science.”
“Science is our art,” said the one with the needle. “We have no other.”
“No art? How can you live?” A strange current of pity flowed through me. There was no life without art. At least no life I could imagine.
“We observe,” said the figure holding the bird. “We study. And we appreciate”—his hands opened, releasing the bird into the air—“the art of others.”
As the bird spiraled into the clear blue of the sky I woke from the dream.
EIGHT
There was still light in the sky, a pearly light that deepened into indigo at the horizon, when the doors were opened on the senior class show. Waiting near the entrance of the gallery, Karen sniffed in the scent of summer jasmine lacing the warm evening air. The breath of wind that ruffled the crimson leaves of the Japanese maples flanking the front do
ors also teased wisps of hair into her eyes. Karen brushed the hair back behind her ears. Her new layered haircut was an indulgence urged on her by Thea, who’d also convinced Karen to purchase a long black skirt and a pale jade blouse. “Might as well look your best,” Thea said. “It’ll give you confidence to face all those judges.” Despite initial doubts, Karen had to admit Thea was right, although the heeled sandals were an unaccustomed torture.
Thea ran up the gallery steps, accompanied by one of her many admirers. Karen recognized the face of Thea’s companion but couldn’t recall his name. She smiled blankly at him before giving Thea a hug.
“You remember Pete, of course.” Thea glowed in a rose-petal pink sundress. She didn’t wait for an answer, linking arms with Karen and walking her into the gallery. “Come along, Pete,” she called over her shoulder. He dutifully trailed them to Karen’s exhibit area.
As Thea and Pete surveyed her art pieces Karen twisted the hem of her filmy blouse between her fingers. She knew her work was good but doubted its greatness. Stomach clenching, hands sweating—it didn’t matter how many times her paintings were judged, it was always hell.
“Don’t think you’ve anything to worry about,” Thea said. “Not that I’m an expert, but even I can see the quality of your technique. You know, it’s odd,” she added, directing her words at Pete, “but I’ve seen sketches and bits of these pieces at home and still had no idea how they really looked.”
“I like that one in particular.” Pete pointed to a large canvas that showed a great swirl of color against a dark sky, like clouds opening a portal to another world.
Karen smiled and knew she’d never forget Pete’s name again. “That’s my favorite as well. Now, why don’t you two take a look at the other exhibits? You don’t have to wait with me. There are even some refreshments around here somewhere.”
“If you’re sure you’re okay,” Thea said.
“Of course. I’ve survived similar things. Just a slightly larger show, that’s all. Go and have some fun.”
Thea and Pete wandered off, with Thea looking over her shoulder and flashing an encouraging smile as the first of the faculty judges walked up to question Karen. A steady stream of faculty followed, until Karen couldn’t recall how many times she’d repeated the same answer to the same professor. Realizing around ten-thirty that all the judges had viewed her exhibit, Karen slumped down in a chair. She closed her eyes and allowed her head to drop.
She assumed she’d drifted into a light sleep when she heard a voice—a voice she attributed to a dream since the speaker couldn’t be present. Certainly not here, not now.
“Hello, Karen,” said Alex Wythe.
Karen’s eyes flew open, and she snapped straight up in the chair. Alex stood right in front of her.
“What are you doing here?”
Alex’s aquamarine eyes were bright with laughter. “Visiting your show. I do work on campus. Word gets around.”
“I guess that makes sense.” It didn’t, but the words spilled out anyway. Karen ruthlessly brushed the hair out of her eyes and stood, praying her legs wouldn’t collapse beneath her. “But I didn’t think you’d have time for something like this, just a student show and all.”
“I made time,” Alex said.
At that moment Thea and Pete walked into Karen’s view. Thea’s eyes opened wide as she took in the appearance of Karen’s visitor. Karen waved them over.
“Thea, Pete, come meet another member of the Morpheus Project. Well, he isn’t one of the student subjects like me, of course. He works there, I mean …”
“Alex Wythe, senior researcher with the project.” Alex held out his hand.
Thea grasped his fingers firmly and gave him a good look up and down. “Thea Christopher, Karen’s roommate. Until you guys stole her, of course.”
“Thea. And you are?” Alex glanced over at Thea’s escort.
“Pete,” Karen said. “Thea’s friend.”
“Boyfriend,” corrected Pete as he shook Alex’s hand.
“One of them,” Thea said airily. Pete didn’t appear discomforted by this remark—a testament to Thea’s charm.
“Friends are always good.” Even Thea’s composure faltered under the warmth of Alex’s smile. “Please don’t let me interrupt. I’d like to study your exhibit a while longer though, Karen, if you don’t mind.” Alex turned and walked a few steps closer to the paintings.
“That’s fine, I don’t, of course not,” Karen babbled. Thea made a slicing motion with her hand and gestured for Karen to follow her to an adjoining exhibit.
“I’ll be just a minute.” Karen spoke to Alex’s back as Thea shook her head.
“Holy crap, where’d you find that gorgeous man?” Thea asked once they were out of Alex’s earshot. Pete, obviously sensing his presence was unnecessary, wandered off to stare at some wire sculptures.
“I told you. He’s with the Morpheus Project.”
“Okay, but what’s he doing here? Are you two an item or something?”
“Certainly not. He’s one of the senior researchers.”
“And looks to be at least eight years older than you. What is he? Twenty-eight? Thirty?”
“Thirty-two.” It was spoken too quickly. Karen swallowed as Thea’s eyes narrowed. “It’s in his bio.”
“Ten years older. So—this is the blond you’ve only mentioned once or twice? Why haven’t I been told the whole story?”
“There isn’t anything to tell. I mean, Alex is nice and all, but we’ve had very little interaction during the project. I have no idea why he’d show up tonight. Ian Vance must’ve told him about the exhibit. Remember I told you I had to ask Dr. Vance for the night off and how nervous I was about that? Well, I certainly didn’t expect Alex Wythe to be here tonight, or any time, actually. Really, it’s nothing, Thea.”
“Uh-huh.” Thea gave Karen a once-over. “Good thing we styled you up, though, isn’t it? Hey, don’t sweat it. Happy for you to snag a new guy, especially a hottie like him.”
“It isn’t like that. He just appreciates art. People do, you know.”
“Of course they do. Now listen, Karen, I know you were going to catch a ride home with Pete and me, but maybe we should make ourselves scarce. Do you have enough cash for a cab if Mr. Gorgeous doesn’t offer to take you home?”
“That would be Dr. Gorgeous, and yes, I do. But I don’t think that’s going to happen. Him taking me home, I mean.”
“It might happen if you ask him. You know, your friends up and disappeared, and here you are, late at night, all alone…”
“You’re incorrigible.” Karen cast a quick glance over her shoulder to see if Alex was still examining her paintings. Miraculously, he was.
“Aren’t I?” Thea grinned wickedly. “Come along, Pete, we’re leaving now.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Karen said, but Thea simply hugged her.
Before releasing her, Thea whispered in her ear, “Just be careful, Karen. This smells like trouble. Glorious fun, but trouble.”
Thea took Pete’s hand and pulled him away, guiding him toward the exit.
Karen returned to her exhibit area. She smiled faintly as Alex met her gaze with his brilliant smile.
“I recognize some of the imagery,” he said. “It’s from your dreams, isn’t it?”
“Some.” Karen was hesitant to discuss the inspiration for her work, even with Alex Wythe.
“This one, for example.” Alex moved so close his arm brushed hers. He was staring at the painting Pete had admired. “I remember this image.”
“Yes, that’s from a dream.”
“I thought so. Rather surprised you didn’t include one with a meteor shower, but of course, that wasn’t a dream. They’re excellent, by the way. Very impressive.” Alex stepped back and appraised Karen as he had the paintings. “Did your friends leave?”
“Yes, they had some party or another.”
“Do you have anyone else here? Thought you’d want to celebrate tonight.”
/> Karen realized she was wringing her hands, stopped, and forced a smile. “Well, my parents are driving down tomorrow to see the show, and we’re going out to eat …”
“No gathering with friends, then? No party?” Alex scanned the room. His attention had drifted already. Of course.
“No. Most of people I know—other than Thea—are in the visual arts program, and they’re all here. And if there’s a party somewhere, well, I haven’t been invited.”
“Too bad. Success should be celebrated.” Alex touched Karen gently on the arm, directing her gaze across the room. “Now that guy over there, is he a boyfriend? He’s been staring us down for the last few minutes.”
It was Karl. Karen bit the inside of her cheek. “No, just a friend.”
“That’s not a friendly look.” Alex put his arm around Karen and raised a hand in greeting. Karl immediately turned on his heel and stalked off.
Karen, acutely aware of Alex’s arm draped across her shoulders, tried in vain to think of an appropriate response.
“And there he goes.” Alex dropped his arm and glanced at her paintings again before continuing. “Listen, you shouldn’t simply go back to the Indigo Building, tonight of all nights. Why don’t we get a cup of coffee. Or a drink. I forget—you’re old enough to drink, aren’t you?”
“I’m twenty-two.”
Alex’s smile tightened. “Just old enough, then.”
“That’d be nice, though, going out.” Karen realized what she’d said and blushed. “I mean, to get coffee or something.”
“Great. I know just the place. It’s close enough to walk.”
Karen considered her feet, aching in the unfamiliar shoes. “I must wait ’til the show closes, though.”
Alex checked his watch. “It’s ten fifty-five. Will five minutes matter?”
“I guess not.” Keeping Alex Wythe waiting for even a few minutes was probably a mistake.
“Let’s go then. If we hurry, we might avoid an encounter with the unpleasant ex-boyfriend.”
