by Carrie Mac
“Excuse me. One moment …” Hueson held up a finger and then tapped her phone bud tucked in her ear beside a gleaming diamond earring. “Hueson … Yes, thank you,” she said to whoever was on the other end of the call.
Within seconds there were footsteps out in the corridor, and then the door opened and Fawn fled across the room to Eva, flinging herself into her mother’s lap.
“What’s going on?” Eva said, thoroughly confused.
“Liam?” Oscar met his brother-in-law’s entrance with the twins in tow with a perplexed look. Trailing behind them was Phee’s granddad, shuffling along, unperturbed. He greeted his wife with a broad grin and kissed each of his daughters on the top of her head as if they were little girls. He cast a suspicious look at the Chrysalis people.
“You go on, get outta here.”
Phee reached for his hand. “They work here, Granddad.”
“Oh yes!” He smiled at her suddenly and handed her a quarter. “Off you go and ride the carousel with your sister, Eva.”
Phee and her mother shared a look, and then Eva started again with the questions.
“Why have you brought them here? We made the decision—as a family—about who would stay home and who would come today.”
Hueson smiled, the lines at the corners of her mouth stretching as if in an odd exercise. “We felt it was appropriate for you all to be together.”
“What patronizing drivel!” Eva leaped to her feet, sending Fawn scrambling. Eva balled her fists at her sides and glared at the Chrysalis executive. “We are not your pawns, nor are we your responsibility. Get to the point, and get to it fast, or I will sic each and every one of these lawyers on you so fast you’ll be out of a job before you can get out of this room!”
“Your son will not be reconned.” Hueson took a breath. “The decision is final. I am sorry.”
Oscar gasped. “Dear Lord …”
Eva pulled Fawn to her instinctively, protectively. “That’s impossible.” As she spoke, she reached blindly for Phee too, her eyes locked on Hueson, imploring her to say more, say differently. Phee moved into her mother’s embrace, as the twins found the toy corner and their stunned father went to keep an eye on them.
Phee’s grandma took her husband’s hand and held on tight, her eyes tearing. Phee’s auntie Trish stood alone, not sure what to do. Fawn blinked up at her mother, aware that she should cry but not understanding exactly why.
“Are we getting Gryph back today?”
“Yes,” Eva said firmly, eyes still on Hueson. “We are.”
The lawyers huddled, voices meshing into a cacophony as they planned their strategy.
“You can’t do this!” Eva’s voice was shaky, and growing louder. “You cannot do this! He didn’t kill himself! He didn’t! I don’t know why you’re making an example of him, because he’s done nothing but earn you money and prestige … nothing! You’re … you’re … you people are making a terrible mistake!”
“We are confident of our findings.” Hueson slipped her laser pointer into her pocket. “The decision is final. I am sorry.”
“You’re not sorry! You’re punishing him because he’s come in second a couple of times!”
“His recent athletic performance has nothing to do with this.”
“You knew he wanted out of his contract!” Eva broke away from her daughters and lunged at the woman, grabbing her around her throat and squeezing. “You’re punishing him for that?”
“Let go of me!” Hueson croaked.
Shapiro leaped to her feet and pressed an intercom button on the wall. “Security! Annex Room, immediately!” Lex rushed forward and pried Eva off.
“You bitch! You horrible, horrible bitch!” Eva crumpled to the floor as the lawyers rushed forward to calm Hueson, who patted her throat as if she’d merely lost a necklace. Eva stayed on her knees, sobbing. Oscar knelt beside her, leaning his forehead against hers, murmuring to her, trying to calm her down.
Phee was stunned.
Not so much by her mother’s outburst, but by her very vocal admission to knowing that Gryph wanted out of his contract. Phee had thought she was the only one who’d been thinking that.
“And if he’s reconned, he can’t compete for you anymore,” Phee murmured in agreement. “He’s not worth anything to you now.”
“Not true,” Hueson said, having heart. “As I have already said, his performance is an entirely separate issue. It is no secret that we have had concerns about his recent commitment—or lack thereof—to his contract. But we are more than capable of separating our sponsorship relationship with him from our larger role— and responsibility—of organizing recons.”
Security came and stayed, and the other Chrysalis executive took over representing the organization while the lawyers went off with Nora Hueson to discuss the options, if there were any at all.
The one called Shapiro addressed the family, speaking clearly.
“The reason we’ve gathered everyone is so that you can have a last visit with Gryph as he is now.”
Horror washed over Phoenix. She did not want to see him dead.
Beside her, Oscar blanched. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Please, Ms. Shapiro, could my family have a moment alone?”
“Of course.” Shapiro retreated into the hallway, taking the security guards with her. She left the family in a bewildered state, hovering close to each other like skittish wild horses, except the twins, who frolicked with the expensive toys provided by Chrysalis, and Phee’s granddad, who wasn’t sure what was going on. Even Fawn understood the gravity of the situation, and kept herself small and folded up, pressing against Phee for comfort.
Without protest from anyone—even Phee’s uncle, who was an ardent atheist—Oscar prayed on behalf of everyone in the room. When he was done, he asked each one of them if they wanted to see Gryphon. Eva did, of course. She would take any opportunity to see him, spend time with him, no matter what. And Phee, despite her fears, wanted to as well. Her grandmother wanted to at first, but then changed her mind. Fawn refused from the outset. Her auntie Trish and uncle Liam would pay their respects too, after Phee and her parents went first.
PHEE AND HER PARENTS were led to a viewing room, where a glass pane with curtains drawn closed on the other side filled one whole wall. In front of it stretched a low, cushioned bench, with discreet boxes of tissue set atop low tables positioned at either end. They were alone in the room once the heavy door sighed shut behind them. After what seemed like a very long wait, the curtains were drawn, exposing another, smaller room. That room was bare, except for soft lighting and a track that ran along the floor.
Phee stepped up to the glass as a set of heavy doors swung open at one end, and a sleek metal capsule slid along the track, stopping in front of her.
“He’s in there,” Eva said, her voice thick. She sat on the bench, her back to the window. “I don’t want to see him like this.” A sob caught in her throat. “I can’t!”
A buzzer sounded, and the capsule locked into place. A moment later, it opened like a clamshell, revealing another smooth, clear capsule within.
And there was Gryph.
He rested suspended in a milky fluid, lit from below so that his new skin practically glowed. His eyes were closed. They’d halted the recon after reknitting his bones and repairing the external damage, right down to the gryphon tattoo on his arm, so he looked as if he were just asleep in a very small, quiet ocean.
Phee placed her hands on the window and leaned closer. How could they stop now when they’d already gone so far? He looked perfect. She had to remind herself that sometimes Chrysalis only ever went this far, after third deaths, so that the body was presentable for the funeral, so that family could say goodbye without having to behold their beloved’s mangled corpse. This wasn’t unusual. They might’ve planned on only going this far all along. It didn’t mean anything to them that he was so lifelike that Phee half expected him to help himself out of the capsule and come home with them, back to his life.
“He’s beautiful, Eva.” Oscar put his hands to the glass too, trying to get closer. “Our son.” He closed his eyes. Phee hoped he was cashing in every favour he could with his God, begging him to change Chrysalis’s decision. Begging him to give Gryph back to them.
It couldn’t end like this. Phee stared hard at her brother, his hair floating like a dark halo around his smooth forehead. She’d been in the same state, twice, and she was fine now. So he would be too. She had to believe, because if she thought for one moment that this was truly the end of her brother, she would lose it. And for her mother’s sake, for Fawn’s and Oscar’s too, someone had to hold on to what little hope was left. Someone had to have faith, other than Oscar and his acceptance of what he could rationalize as God’s will.
“The lawyers will figure something out.” Phee turned away at last and sat beside Eva. “This isn’t the end, so you don’t have to say goodbye, Mom. This is not goodbye.”
Oscar winced at her optimism. Him, of all people! “Phee, perhaps this is a goodbye. We can’t be sure. Not at this point.”
“It’s not, Dad. I know it.”
Oscar turned back to the window. “I pray that you’re right.”
Eva squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Go get your auntie Trish and uncle Liam.”
Phee left the viewing room, her knees shaking, her head spinning. She told her aunt and uncle that they could go see Gryph now, and then she took a seat near the twins as they played on, cheerfully oblivious. Fawn climbed onto her lap with her bunny and took Phee’s cheeks in her cool, small hands.
“Did you tell him that he has to come back because we were in the middle of a game of snakes and ladders? Did you tell him I kept the board just like it was and everything?”
Fawn had asked her to do this before Phee had left the room with her parents. Now Fawn looked up at Phee with such trust and faith that Phee couldn’t bear to tell her that she’d forgotten. It had been so unsettling, seeing Gryph like that, that it hadn’t occurred to her to indulge Fawn’s simple request.
But she nodded anyway. “I did.”
“What’d he say?”
“Fawn, he can’t talk right now.”
“Oh.”
“And he can’t walk and he can’t think and he can’t come home yet. It’s like he’s sleeping.”
“Stasis.” Fawn tried on the word Oscar had explained to her earlier.
“That’s right. Stasis.”
In his seat across from her, her grandfather was tugging off his shoes and socks. Fawn pointed, grinning. “Look at Granddad.”
Phee shared a wink with her little sister before calling across the room. “What’re you doing, Granddad?”
“I’m going to the beach.” He balled up socks and stuffed them in his pocket. “ To feel the sand between my toes.”
“True, Granddad.” Phee slid Fawn off her lap and crouched at her grandfather’s feet. “But we’re not going until after dinner.” Another white lie slid easily off her tongue as she found his socks in his pocket and fitted them back onto his callused, hairy feet. “Right now, we have to wait.”
“For Gryphon.” Her grandfather nodded sombrely. “We must wait for your brother or he will be fit to be tied.”
“Right, Granddad.” The tears that Phee had been diligently holding at bay rushed forward, soaking her cheeks in seconds. “That’s right.”
MARLIN
The team of lawyers assured Phee’s parents that it wasn’t over yet. When they emerged from their meeting with Hueson, they were subdued but hopeful, or at least that’s what the lawyers told Oscar and Eva. They’d managed to get an agreement in writing, stipulating that Chrysalis would not to do anything to Gryph while he was in stasis that might harm any future recon. So he was, and would be for who knew how long, quite literally in an indefinite state of suspended animation. Part of Phee wished she hadn’t seen him like that, but mostly she was glad for it, preferring his renewed skin and rebuilt bones to the images of him broken and bleeding on the tracks.
The family took two Chrysalis shuttles home, the first one filled with Oscar, Eva, and Fawn, Eva’s mother and sister, and Phoenix. Her uncle Liam accompanied the rowdier group that included the twins and her grandfather, who’d put his shoes and socks back on, but rolled up his pants, still sure he was going to the beach. At first, Fawn had wanted to go with her cousins, perhaps lured by their rosy-cheeked cluelessness, but just before the doors closed, she’d changed her mind, yelping for her mother to wait for her and Bunny.
She sat on Eva’s lap and cuddled her stuffed rabbit as if she wasn’t much older than the twins, and Phoenix envied her that. She felt she had to be strong. Not for herself—she’d hole up in her room and weep for weeks if she thought she could—but for her parents. Eva tried to be the strong one, but she was as much a victim of her grief as Oscar was, who at least readily admitted it and prayed for the heavenly fortitude to carry on. Eva’s weakness was chilled with a rage only a mother could experience, having her child denied life. Oscar, on the other hand, had a quiet grace to his sadness.
And Phee? What did she think? She stared out the window as the tidy buildings and manicured lawns passed below in a blur. She didn’t know. She didn’t know what she thought. Only that nothing felt right. Everything felt amiss, as if the world had made a wrong turn and now couldn’t find its way home.
The shuttle sped toward the Shores with a low hum that drowned out the quiet, sad murmurings of her family. She wished they could keep going until they came full circle around and arrived at Chrysalis again to collect Gryph, fully and impeccably reconned. She wished she’d been with the boys that fateful day so that she’d seen what the boys had seen. And so that she’d know why they weren’t talking.
Under her fear and sadness burned a blaze of determination. They had three days until the appeal would be ruled on. Phee wouldn’t spend one waking moment of that wallowing in hopelessness. She would find out the truth. With Saul gone, Tariq was the key. Neko was just a little kid. And Huy, too devastated about Gryph’s death to string a solid sentence together, was of no use to her right now. Maybe when—or if—he ever calmed down.
She shut her eyes and imagined telling Tariq what had happened at Chrysalis that day, how close her family was to losing Gryph forever. She would describe the way he looked, strung like a thread between life and death. Tariq had to understand. He’d have to tell her what he knew, the secrets he kept.
UNCLE LIAM took the twins and his father-in-law across the green to Phoenix’s grandparents’ house so that the others could have a quiet supper. Hardly anyone touched the food, each of them picking disheartenedly at the platter of sandwiches that a neighbour had brought over for them. Oscar poured everyone except Fawn a glass of wine, and for once Fawn didn’t protest at being left out. Phoenix sipped hers, the fruity heft of the alcohol rushing to her head. Eva and Trish spoke softly to each other, going over the events of the day, trying to make a plan. Phoenix reached for the carafe and refilled her glass as she strained to listen. No one noticed. She could hear only bits, but it sounded as though her auntie Trish wanted to have a backup strategy if Chrysalis ruled not to recon Gryph. And it sounded as though she didn’t trust the lawyers. Right now, Phoenix could not bear the thought that they might fail.
“Excuse me, please?” She set her empty wineglass down and pushed herself away from the table. Oscar looked up, eyes filled with worry.
“You’ve hardly eaten, honey.”
“None of us have.” Phoenix shrugged. “I’m just not hungry. May I be excused?”
“Of course.” Her dad put a hand on Fawn, seated beside him, a plate of cheese and pickles untouched in front of her, a carefully stacked pillar of crackers on her napkin. Fawn glanced up.
“Can I come with you?”
She meant right now, of course. But for a second, Phoenix wondered how her little sister knew she was going to go out later, to meet Tariq and Huy and Neko, the three guys left.
“Sure, brat.” She of
fered Fawn a hand and she eagerly took it, after tucking the crackers in her pockets. The sisters climbed the stairs in silence, and once at the top Phoenix went to drop Fawn’s hand, but Fawn held tight, tugging her into her room with her.
For a little kid, Fawn kept her room in surprisingly good order, especially when she was stressed. The bed was made as neatly as if their grandmother had done it, and the floor was bare, every toy in its spot, all her stuffed animals lined up along the end of her bed, facing the door.
“They’re waiting for Gryph to come home,” Fawn explained as she handed out the crackers among them, one each. Phoenix didn’t have the heart to lecture her about crumbs in her bed. “He said he’d read a story to them.”
Phoenix’s throat swelled, catching her words. “How about I read it to them?”
“No,” Fawn replied. “I don’t think so.”
Phoenix’s eyes welled. “Just until he comes back?”
“Well …” Fawn dropped Phoenix’s hand and clasped her own together, thinking hard. “I guess maybe just one.”
“Okay, then. You pick.”
“The stuffies pick,” Fawn said matter-of-factly. She surveyed her troop of plush teddies and sad-eyed dogs, spending a little more time in front of her cherished stuffed rabbit. Then she went to her bookshelf, searching.
Even before Fawn had pulled it down, Phoenix knew which one it would be. The Velveteen Rabbit. Phee’s heart did a flip in her chest.
“How about a different one?” She didn’t know if she could bear the story of the toy rabbit being brought to life. Before, it had always resonated with her because of her own two deaths and subsequent recons. But now the story held so much more weight, what with Gryphon being in stasis at Chrysalis.
“This is the one Bunny picked.” Fawn held out the book, the cover worn, the corners of the pages softened with age. Inside the front cover, Fawn had written her name under their grandmother’s and Eva’s and Phoenix’s. Phoenix didn’t remember writing her name there because she’d done so only a couple of weeks before she’d died the second time. Gryph had never written his name in it. He’d preferred stories about ogres and knights and sports adventures. He had never liked The Velveteen Rabbit. As Phee turned the pages to the first illustration, she wondered if he would appreciate the story as much as she did, when he came home. If, she reminded herself. If he came home.
