Twice Shy

by Patrick Freivald

  "I have to know—" She took another step.

  "Do not look in that room. I forbid it."

  Her mom frowned as Ani glanced back. "Sorry, Mom." She walked up to the door's tiny window. She put her hands around her eyes and pressed up against the glass. In the gloom she saw a figure strapped to the chair, head lolled a little to one side, gag in his mouth. Dylan.

  She whirled around, catching herself on the door lest she fall. Her mother was right behind her, wearing her doctor face.

  "Mom, you can't do this."

  "Too late, it's already done." She raised a finger.

  "No. We can let him go before he wakes up. He'll never know, and if he remembers something, they'll think he's crazy." Ani braced for the explosion.

  Her mom opened her hand, put it to Ani's cheek and brushed her hair back with her knuckles. "Ani, sweetie, we can't let him go. He's too dangerous."

  "No he's not, Mom. He's crazy, so they'll keep him locked up. No one will ever believe him. We can let him—"

  Her mom grabbed her face with both hands and pulled her close. "You don't understand. I infected him with ZV just before you got here."

  Ani blinked in disbelief. "What?"

  "You heard me."

  Ani stepped back against the door and slid to the floor. "You..." She wrapped her knees with her arms. "You killed him."

  "No," her mother said. "It's just until I can cure him. It gives me a specimen that I'm not so concerned with losing, so I can be more aggressive with the testing regimen."

  Aggressive. "And then what? If that fails, you just find another specimen?"

  Her mother nodded. "If I have to. I told you I would do anything to protect you, and I meant it."

  "Jesus, Mom. I... Jesus. Have you done this before?"

  She hesitated, then shook her head. "Not personally."

  Ani scowled. "I have a right to know."

  Her mother returned her scowl. "I suppose you do." She licked her lips. "My colleagues have done it before, and it's the reason I left their employ. They infected a pregnant woman to see if ZV transmits through pregnancy."

  "Oh, my God," Ani said, horrified. "What happened to her?"

  "She died."

  Ani bit her lip. "And the baby?"

  Her mom hesitated. "Also dead."

  Ani shook her head. "You can't do this," Ani said. "It's wrong."

  "We don't have a choice. It's time to grow up, Ani. Sometimes you do what you have to."

  * * *

  Ani got out of the bath at two-thirty and crept through the darkness. Her mother's breathing didn't change as the stairs creaked, but she froze anyway, waiting for a trap. A minute later she tiptoed to the bookcase, eased up the latch, and opened the basement door. Well-oiled, it made no noise. She stepped through and eased it shut. The concrete floor was cold on her bare feet.

  Her mother took meticulous notes, years and years of spiral notebooks filled with drawings, ideas, arguments, chemical formulae, and experimental results organized by date in a mountain of filing cabinets. Ani found the earliest set of files in the back of the basement. A moan escaped the coal furnace, and Ani closed her eyes. I'm so sorry.

  After a moment she opened them and gripped the handle. The drawer squeaked as she inched it open, and with gritted teeth she forced herself to patience. Millimeter by millimeter the drawer came open, revealing stacks of notebooks sprinkled with ancient dust. She wiped the dust off the top notebook, and found dates printed on the front in her mother's meticulous hand. She skipped forward six notebooks and found the entry for July 9th, seventeen years previous. She caught herself humming Happy Birthday under her breath, and stopped.

  She scanned the entry, picking out important phrases. Jane Doe stable under serum 2... C-Section scheduled... live birth, female, four pounds, eleven ounces... child is symptomatic, fever 103... time of death 9:32 p.m., remains incinerated... biopsy ZV positive...

  She looked up. Her mom frowned at her from halfway down the stairs. Her voice was soft, husky. "What are you doing?"

  "Reading," Ani said. "About me?"

  Her mom froze, then nodded. "Lies about you, yes." She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. "I couldn't write the truth, not about that. If they found it..."

  Ani swallowed, a useless reflex. "What is the truth, Mom? About me? My real mother?"

  "I'm your real mother," she growled, then schooled herself. "Your birth mother, you mean."

  Ani nodded, and waited. Please, no more lies.

  Her mom looked through her as she talked. "Jane Doe. I never knew her name, where they got her. She was maybe seven months pregnant when they brought her into the lab and infected her. They kept her in an induced coma until she came to term, and the child was removed via C-section. Healthy, pink and precious, a baby girl. It was my job to test it for ZV and then destroy it. I took it—her—to my lab and administered the tests. ZV positive. And yet alive. No symptoms, no fever. Healthy. Beautiful."

  Her sad smile never touched her eyes. "If they ever realized what they had, what a miracle this baby girl was, she'd grow up in a lab, forever strapped to a table, a test subject from violent birth until they found no more use for her and incinerated her. I couldn't let them do that. I couldn't. It was too far. Even for me." Her gaze drifted to the floor. "Even for me...."

  Ani waited. Her mom looked up but didn't appear to see.

  "So I faked the documents that she was destroyed and took her home." Her eyes snapped back to the present. "I named her Ani, and I raised her as my own, and I never told them."

  Ani stood there, her mouth open in dumb shock.

  Her mom walked down the stairs, put her hand on Ani's head and rubbed it affectionately. "I love you, my baby girl. I have since the moment I saw you. I had to protect you."

  "You lied to me," Ani said. "Lied."

  She nodded. "I did. I was going to tell you when... when all this was over. When you got better." She plucked the notebook from Ani's fingers and closed it. "There are a lot of things I wish I'd never done. Working for those men can't be one of them, because they brought me you."

  She reached out her arms, and Ani buried herself in the warmth of her embrace. Oh, my God.

  Chapter 21

  Ani trudged through the next few days. Dylan is dying in my basement. My mom is a murderer. Maybe a mass-murderer. My mom isn't even my mom. She vaguely recalled blowing off Fey when she wanted to talk about Jake, and being sat down by a concerned Mrs. Weller worried about her shell-shocked demeanor. Called into the nurse's office, she had to listen as her mother snapped at her to stop being childish. She infected him and now she's waiting for him to die so she can run her tests.

  Wednesday was Dr. Seuss's birthday, and she played piano at the assembly in the Elementary School. She just walked her way through the sheet music and hoped she didn't screw it up. The kids clapped along and seemed to like it.

  She got back to the upper school too late for the bus. Rather than call her mom, she decided to walk home. A car pulled up next to her, a voice called out. Fey, from the passenger's seat of Jake's car. No, I don't want a ride. She waved them off and kept walking. It was almost forty degrees, warmer than her nightly bath, and the air felt good against her skin.

  When she got home she could hear her mom in the basement. She didn't want to look, didn't want to know. She slipped behind the bookcase and went downstairs. Dylan was dead in the recliner, straining against the chains, drool leaking out past the gag, soaking his T-shirt.

  "Oh, good, sweetie, you're home," her mother said, not looking up from her notebook. "Grab the syringes for me, would you?"

  Ani looked at the lab, clean and clinical. Is this what it looked like then? When they cut my mother open and pulled me out and burned her? Did it happen here, or somewhere else?

  "Ani!" her mother barked from above a bank of test tubes.

  Ani looked at her. "I don't think I can do this. This isn't right." Dylan moaned.

  "It's as right as it can be. Now get me the
syringes."

  She looked at the syringes, then at her mom. "No."

  Her mother raised a finger and opened her mouth.

  Ani cut her off.

  "Don't you dare raise that finger at me. You're not my mother."

  Her mother stormed around the table and grabbed her by the shoulders. She slapped Ani across the face. "Don't you ever say that again." Her voice was hoarse. "I gave up everything to be your mother. Everything. I raised you as my own, and I'm the only thing that's standing between you and the furnace. And now... And now I..." She started hyperventilating, then burst into tears.

  Sobbing gasps overwhelmed her. She dropped to her knees. Ani didn't know what to do, didn't know what to feel. You've always been the strong one. She stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder, patted it. Her mom grabbed her leg and cried. And cried and cried.

  When she finally stopped, her eyes were red and her nose leaked snot. She wiped her face on the sleeve of her lab coat, then hugged Ani's leg again. "I'm so sorry, baby. I just don't know what to do." Mom always knew what to do, always had a plan, and a backup plan.

  "What's going on?" Ani asked. Dylan groaned around the gag and jangled his chains behind her. Besides the obvious. She helped her mom to her feet and walked her to the lab table. They sat. Her mom blew her nose, threw away the tissue, then looked at Ani.

  "I went to see a specialist this fall. An oncologist."

  "I don't—"

  "A cancer specialist. I was diagnosed with AML, acute myeloid leukemia. I've been on chemotherapy while they ran more tests. That's why I've been so tired." Ani bit her lip. "While we were in Key West, Doctor Ehrmentraut called and gave me some news. There are some cytogenetic abnormalities in the del-five-Q—"

  "What does that mean?"

  "It means that it's bad. Very bad."

  "How bad?"

  Her mom put her palms flat on the table. "Typical cases have a five-year mortality of eighty-five percent." No no no no no not my mom not my mommy. "Sometimes it can be cured. The first chemo didn't go so well. We're going to run a more aggressive battery soon. I'm going to feel sick—sicker—and I'm going to lose my hair, and my energy.

  "But I'm already tired, and I don't feel good. And if I'm going to cure you, I need to do it before I... soon. And I can't do it without your help. I need my baby beside me. Please, sweetie." She reached across the table and grabbed Ani's hand.

  Ani squeezed. "Okay, Mom. Okay. I'll help. On one condition."

  "What?"

  "If things don't work out with Dylan, we stop. No more people die so I can live."

  "Okay, sweetie," her mom said. She gave Ani a tight smile. "Let's get to work."

  * * *

  Friday good. End of twenty-five weeks bad. Ani got her unofficial grades from her teachers. D in AP History, D in English. Parent-teacher conference requests had been sent home that morning. I'm dead. Extra dead.

  "Come on," Fey said. "What's the worst that could happen?" Home school.

  "Summary execution," Ani said. Jake laughed, and she punched him in the arm. "It's not funny, Jake. My mom is going to kill me."

  Jake rubbed his arm. "Your mom has a stick up her butt."

  "Doesn't she know already?" Fey asked. "I mean, she works here and all."

  Ani shook her head. "Apparently she has to contact the teacher the same way any other parent does. Union rules or something."

  "That's stupid," Jake said. Ani shrugged.

  "So," Fey said, "that means she's getting a letter in the mail just like anyone else would?"

  Ani nodded. "It'll be in the mailbox when she gets home."

  Fey grinned. "It doesn't have to be."

  "Mom beats me home every day, if she doesn't give me a ride. There's no way to hide it from her."

  Fey coughed, then smirked. "Wow. I don't feel so good."

  Jake ran his tongue over his front teeth. "You look pale. Maybe you should go home early."

  Ani's eyes widened. "If someone sees you—"

  "Then I did it myself," Fey said, "trying to do you a favor. You didn't put me up to nothing."

  Ani sighed. "Why bother? It's just delaying the inevitable. She'll find out when five week reports go out anyway."

  "True," Fey said. "But what's wrong with delaying the inevitable?"

  Ani bit her lip. She looked at Fey, then down the hall toward the nurse's office. "Yeah, okay. I owe you one."

  * * *

  Her mom ate dinner while Ani painted, ungrounded and un-yelled at. For now. Another brush stroke completed the hull of a sailboat, and she started on the sail. The doorbell rang. Ani got up, but her mom beat her to it. She checked the peephole, unlatched the dead-bolts, and opened the door. Fey stepped inside, chomping gum.

  "Miss Daniels," her mother said. "What can I do for you this evening?"

  Fey held out an envelope. "Hi, Mrs. Romero. This was in our mailbox by mistake. Thought you might want it." Her mom plucked the envelope from Fey's hand. Ani recognized the school's logo, and tried to come up with an insult deadly enough for the occasion.

  "Thank you, Tiffany." Her mom stepped out of the way as Ani pushed past her.

  "Fey, can I talk to you for a minute?"

  "Sure," Fey said. Her upper lip was curled in a tiny sneer. Ani stepped outside and closed the door, her wide eyes asking the question for her. "Not for nothing, Ani, but next time I want to talk to you about something, try not blowing me off. Consider this a lesson in friendship." She turned and tromped through the snow toward her yard.

  Ani watched her go, then walked inside to face her mother, who was already frowning at the letter.

  "Why am I being asked to parent-teacher conferences, Ani?"

  "I've been under a lot of stress, Mom. Maybe they want to talk to you about that. Mrs. Weller's been concerned about me, referred me to the psychologist and everything."

  "Well," she said, "I guess I need to keep Thursday night free."

  * * *

  When Fey got on the bus, Ani scowled at her.

  "What?" Fey smirked. "Tell me you didn't deserve that."

  "I..." Ani sighed. "I'm sorry I blew you off, Fey. But—"

  "But nothing." Fey shook her head. "I'm not your part-time friend, there only when it's convenient for you. We're either friends or we're not."

  Ani held up her hands. "Yeah, okay, I get it. I didn't realize I was being such an asshole." Sometimes I forget and expect you to make sense.

  "Apology accepted, asshole." Fey sat, shoved Ani toward the window with her hip, and held out an ear bud. "Happens to all of us."

  They chatted about Jake over Death Cab for Cutie—he was still interested, Fey wasn't—and Ani gave her some lame advice founded on nothing even vaguely approaching experience with that sort of situation. The one time something like it had happened to her, she'd died and gone emo. That had taken care of Keegan's interest without further effort on her part.

  They cut eighth period to smoke cigarettes behind the gas station across the street and talk about nothing. A certain amount of calculated trouble was expected of her, and Fey was always a willing participant.

  Fey was complaining about the lack of good jobs in Ohneka Falls when she took a silver box out of her purse. Ani stared in amazement as she popped it open, scooped out a hunk of white powder with her pinky fingernail, and snorted it. She snapped it closed, sighed, and shook herself out. "Wow."

  Ani's mouth opened, closed. She tried again. "Fey, what the hell was that?"

  Fey quirked a smile. "Fuzz. You want some?"

  "What the hell is fuzz?" Because it looked like freaking cocaine.

  "It makes you fuzzy. Warm. Happy. Want some?" She hesitated with the case halfway into her purse.

  Ani shook her head. "No, Fey. I—You shouldn't have any either." Holy crap.

  Fey rolled her eyes. "Don't start. I get enough of that shit at home. If you're going to go all prude, I'll go back to study hall." Stealing alcohol and cigarettes for my friends, and I'm prude?

 
"I was just saying that—" Fey put her index finger to Ani's lips.

  "Yeah, I know. I got this. It's fine."

  Ani grabbed her wrist and lowered it. What does, "I got this" even mean? "Yeah, um, I'm going to have to ask you to not do that in front of me."

  Fey rolled her eyes again. "Whatever. Give it a month you'll be doing it with me. Just watch."

  At a loss for words, Ani lit another cigarette. Fey gave her a lazy smile.

  "Got another?"

  Ani sighed. "Sure, Fey."

  Shit.

  * * *

  It was the second Tuesday of the month, so that evening Ani found herself at the elementary skating party, selling candy. The moment she walked in, she felt the familiar, disconcerting feeling simmer in her gut. As the evening passed, she tried to enjoy the music and the atmosphere, but more and more her eyes were drawn to the delicate shapes moving under the flashing lights, and her gorge rose in her throat. She forced down the feeling and fumbled through her coat for her razor. It took the edge off, but didn't kill it.

  The DJ put on Abysmal Dawn, but nobody wanted to skate to death metal, so she got mobbed. Ravenous children looking for a sugar buzz surrounded her, a press of delicious flesh with an undertone of young, delicious brains. She dragged the razor lengthwise down her wrist once, twice, and it didn't help. She put her hand to her mouth and wiped away a string of drool—and that was too much.

  She pushed out of her chair and it clattered to the floor as she stumbled away. She looked at her mom, tan and lean and full of hot blood, gasped out "Mom" in desperation, and stumbled into the bathroom. Once past the door she dropped to her knees and dug her fingernails into her thighs, her eyes squeezed tight in concentration. Behind her eyelids the world got darker, and darker.

  An arm went around her neck, putting her in a choke-hold. Her eyes snapped open and she saw her mother in the mirror, one arm around her neck, the other raised above her head with an auto-injector. The hand came down onto her wig. She wanted to bite it, chew it, taste it, but she kept herself still. It was the hardest thing she had ever done.