by John Rector
“Jesus, Nick.” Abby stood up and held out her hand for my drink. “Are you done?”
I drained the last of the scotch, then handed her the empty glass. “Do you want me to leave?”
She seemed to think about the question, then shook her head. “No, but I want you to tell me everything you found out, and I want you to be honest. Can you do that?”
I told her I could.
She stared at me for a moment, then turned and headed for the kitchen. “What proof do you have that I was part of this project?”
“No proof,” I said. “Just a feeling.”
“So you don’t know for sure?”
“Not for sure, no.” I pushed myself up off the couch and crossed the room toward the painting. “But your medical records were empty. No illnesses, no doctor’s visits, there was nothing. After everything I’d learned about Project Aeon, it seemed to click.”
“You mean after what Patricia told you.”
“You think she made it all up?”
“Oh no,” Abby said. “She didn’t make anything up, but as usual she was selective about what she told you.”
I listened to Abby moving around in the kitchen, and I stared at the painting. Then I leaned in and reread the handwritten note mounted on the wall.
An original for the original.
With joy,
Daniel
This time something about the note didn’t seem right. I read it over again, feeling it gnaw at me, but I couldn’t quite place it. There was a warm alcohol buzz building in the center of my chest, and my head felt light and open.
I decided I’d had enough to drink.
“If you’re making another, don’t make one for me.”
“Too late.”
I turned away from the painting and saw Abby standing a few feet behind me. It startled me, and I jumped.
“Did I scare you?”
I tried to play it off, but my heart was racing, and I couldn’t seem to find the words.
Abby was carrying two drinks.
“I already made these, so you can’t back out yet.” She held one out to me. “Besides, there are a few things I’d like to know.”
I could feel beads of sweat forming on my skin, and the floor seemed to move under me. I reached for the drink and spilled half of it on the back of my hand.
I started to apologize, but then Abby reached out and grabbed my arm, steadying me.
“Let’s sit down,” she said. “Try to think this through.”
Abby led me over to the couch. I struck my shin on the coffee table, spilling more of my drink.
“Damn it,” I said. “I’m sorry I—”
I felt the strength run out of my legs, and I reached out and grabbed the arm of the couch, dropping backward onto the cushions. The glass I was holding slipped out of my hand, and I watched it fall slowly, striking the hardwood floor and shattering.
“It’s okay,” Abby said. “Just be still.”
I tried to sit up, tried to apologize, but the room tumbled around me, and I couldn’t find my voice. Abby eased down onto the couch beside me.
“Relax, Nick.”
Her voice sounded far away, and when I looked up at her my vision blurred, as if seeing her from underwater.
“What the hell is—?”
“All you had to do was walk away,” she said. “It was over, and no one would’ve bothered you.”
I followed the sound of her voice, tried to focus. “What did you—?”
“Victor told me you’d come back, but I didn’t believe him.” She slid out to the edge of the cushion, her legs crossed at the ankles, her hands folded properly in her lap. “Looks like I was wrong.”
I reached for the arm of the couch. It took all my strength to pull myself up to a sitting position. Once I did, I looked down at the floor and the broken glass scattered like ice in the spreading pool of scotch.
Abby watched me, her face stony.
“You shouldn’t fight it, Nick. You’re going to need all your strength.”
I tried to stand, but my legs were numb, and I slipped down to the floor, my back against the front of the couch.
“Careful,” Abby said. “Don’t cut yourself.”
I looked down at the broken glass around me, then reached out and picked up one of the bigger pieces and squeezed it hard. The pain was sharp. I felt the edge dig into my palm and the blood run over my hand.
“What did you give me?”
“A little Rohypnol,” Abby said. “At least I think it was a little. All of this is new to me.”
“Why?”
Abby got up and knelt in front of me. She watched me for a moment, then reached out and touched my cheek with her fingertips, moving them over my skin, gentle and slow.
“Because you came back.”
31
For a while I was alone. Then Abby was there, carrying a dustpan and a towel. She knelt on the floor and began picking up shards of broken glass and placing them in the dustpan.
“I bet I can guess what Patricia told you,” she said. “She told you my mother started that fire because she was heartbroken over Daniel, and that she couldn’t stand the thought of not having him in her life. Am I right?”
She looked at me, smiled.
“You don’t have to answer,” she said. “I know I’m right, because that was what she told me. Patricia doesn’t understand how any woman could look at Daniel and not fall under his spell.” Abby shook her head. “She’s deranged.”
I tried to say something, but the words came out jumbled and loose.
“I’m not saying my mother didn’t love him,” she said. “How could she not? They worked together, and they shared the same passion right up until the end, when Daniel decided to throw everything away.”
Abby picked up the last of the broken glass, then reached for the towel and spread it over the floor.
“They both believed in evolution through science.” She sat back on her heels, looked up at me. “Patricia thought it was a cult. I bet she told you that, too, didn’t she?”
I shook my head and felt it roll on my neck.
Abby made a dismissive sound. “I’d be surprised if she didn’t. That’s one of her favorite ways to dismiss Daniel’s work. It’s no secret she lacks the intelligence and the imagination to understand what they were trying to do. It’s easy to tear down the things you don’t understand.”
I bit the insides of my cheeks hard enough to make my eyes water. It pulled me back.
“You were the first.”
Abby’s eyes went wide. “Very good, Nick.” She nodded. “My parents had boundless faith in their work and in each other. It seemed like the logical place to start testing.”
“The original.”
Abby smiled. “You mean the painting.” She turned toward the Rothko then back to me. “The note was Daniel’s attempt at being clever and making me feel welcome. It didn’t work on either level.”
She looked down at the dustpan, moving the broken pieces of glass around with her finger.
“He had so much guilt when I met him.” Her voice was distant. “I was glad, too. It would’ve been a shame if the years had dimmed his memory of what they did to us.”
Abby looked at me, her eyes sharp.
“Now he’s dying, a shell of the man he once was and surrounded by parasites who only see his money.” She shook her head. “Alone and haunted by the memory of his daughters.”
I looked up at her.
“Patricia didn’t tell you that part, did she?” She smiled. “It’s true. Everyone born into that program, we’re all his children.”
I tried to focus on what she was saying, but my mind drifted, and I closed my eyes. I don’t know how long I was out, but when I opened my eyes again Abby was in front of me, slapping my face, bri
nging me back.
“There you are,” she said. “Try to stay awake, okay? I had to guess the dosage, and I’d hate for you to drift off and not wake up.”
She patted my leg, then went back to cleaning the spilled drink off the floor. A second later I heard her hiss through her teeth, and she reached for my hand.
“You’re bleeding.”
I tried to pull away, but everything seemed to be going in slow motion, and all I could manage was a weak twitch.
“Come on, let me see.”
Abby pried my fingers open, said, “Why would you do this? I told you to be careful.” She stood and disappeared down the hallway. When she came back she was carrying a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a roll of medical tape, and some gauze. “Let’s clean you up before everyone gets here.”
I made a sound, but she ignored me.
“There’s still a lot to do,” she said. “We were stuck for a long time, but then you stepped in and saved the day.” She paused. “Which makes what has to happen next so upsetting.”
I tried to pull my hand away, but she held tight.
“You’re going to have to be still if you want me to clean this cut. It’s a nasty one, so if I were you—”
“What are you going to do?”
This time my voice sounded clear, and Abby sat back.
“Maybe I didn’t give you as much as I thought,” she said. “Lucky for you. I was starting to worry.”
“Why did—?”
Abby reached for the towel. She slid it under my hand, then opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured it over the cut on my palm. I felt the sting all the way up my arm, but I didn’t make a sound.
“Sorry, but it has to stay clean.”
I took a deep breath and tried to ask her what they were going to do, but before I could, Abby spoke. This time her voice was low and soft, and I had to strain to hear it.
“I hate the smell of rubbing alcohol,” she said. “Always makes me think of doctors, pain, and fear from when I was a child.”
I frowned, and she noticed.
“Not the kind of doctors you’re thinking of,” she said. “These doctors were different. They were terrifying, and they were ruthless.”
Abby didn’t go on, and I watched her as she wrapped my hand with the gauze. When she finished, she looked up at me and smiled.
“There, good as new.” She stared at my hand, but her eyes were still far away. “I don’t know how many diseases they infected me with back then, but it seemed like there was a new one every week.” She picked up the rubbing alcohol and replaced the lid. “It was painful, but nothing compared to the physical injuries.”
For a moment she was gone, lost in thought. When she came back, she looked at me and shrugged.
“None of that matters anymore.” She gathered the towel and the dustpan, along with the gauze and the tape. “I was happy when she burned it down.”
“Why did she—?”
“Because she loved me,” Abby said. “When she saw what they were doing, she tried to get them to stop, but it was beyond her control.”
“So she destroyed it.”
“She was a scientist, but she couldn’t stand by and watch.” Abby paused. “I would’ve done the exact same thing if I were her.”
Abby got up and carried everything back toward the hallway. Then she stopped and looked back.
“The good news,” she said, “is that now, thanks to you, we can find the people who were responsible, and we can make it right for the ones who weren’t as lucky as me.”
She smiled at me, then walked away.
I could hear her shuffling around in the bathroom, and I tried to push myself up from off the floor. I managed to get one of my legs under me before falling back down and landing on my side.
A minute later someone knocked.
I heard Abby’s footsteps running down the hallway, and I felt a cold rush of air against my face as the door opened and several people stepped inside.
Victor and Ellis came around the corner and into the living room. When they saw me, Victor turned to Abby and said something I couldn’t quite hear.
I watched her mouth the word “no.”
Victor frowned and turned away.
Abby crossed the room toward me. She stopped halfway and turned to Ellis. “Help me get him on the couch.”
Ellis stepped forward, and I felt his hands under my arms, lifting me up and onto the couch. Some of the feeling had come back into my arms, and the room stopped spinning.
Victor came up behind Abby. “What do you want to do with him?”
Abby shook her head, her eyes never leaving mine. “It’s not time.”
I could tell she was about to say more, but then someone else knocked on the door. Victor turned to Ellis, nodded. Ellis walked down the hallway toward the front door. When he returned, Patricia’s driver, Travis, was with him.
Abby ran across the room to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled him in and they kissed, long and deep. When they broke, I heard her whisper, “Well?”
Travis nodded.
Abby kissed him again, then let go and said, “How?”
Travis spoke softly in her ear. When he finished talking, she turned to me.
“I have the most amazing news,” she said. “Turns out that after Patricia left her meeting with you, she went home, took her belt from her closet, and hung herself in her . . .” She looked back at Travis. “Where?”
“Her shower.”
Abby nodded. “The police haven’t found her body yet, so it hasn’t technically been ruled a suicide, but it will be soon. Travis has a true gift with suicides.”
I looked up at him, but he didn’t see me.
“Now comes the hard part.” Abby sat by me on the couch. She folded her hands in her lap, took a long, deep breath, and said, “What to do with you?”
32
Let me go.”
Abby laughed. “Would that I could, Nick. Would that I could.”
She got up and crossed the room to where Victor was standing. I watched them talk for a while, trying to pick up what they were saying, but my thoughts blended together, then dissolved in my mind like smoke.
I closed my eyes and squeezed my hands into fists. My lips were tingling, and some of the feeling was coming back in my arms and legs. I was still a long way from running, but it was a start.
When I opened my eyes again, there were more people in the house. I didn’t recognize them, and they moved from room to room, carrying boxes or furniture down the hall toward the back door.
Abby came back and sat next to me.
She held my hand.
“As you can probably tell, we’re leaving,” she said. “We still have a lot to do, and the sooner we start, the better. You understand, don’t you?”
I watched her, didn’t speak.
“And then there’s you.” Abby sat up, inhaled deeply. “You’re such a sweetheart, Nick, but you’re also a loose end. We still have such a long way to go, and we can’t risk you telling anyone about what we’re doing here.”
“I don’t know what . . .”
My voice cracked, and I coughed.
“We’re not going to kill you,” she said. “Believe it or not, that’s not always the best solution, especially with delicate situations like this. A suspicious murder leads to suspicious cops, and that can be an entirely different kind of problem.”
She smoothed my collar with her hand. “We’ve talked about it, and we believe the best scenario for everyone involved is for you to stay alive.”
“What are—?”
Abby put a finger to her lips, shushing me.
“I should probably finish,” she said. “One thing I’ve learned is that when you don’t want people to figure out the truth about something, all you need to do is
make the truth sound insane.”
I watched her, waited.
“Think of it this way,” she said. “Let’s say the police respond to a call of shots fired at your wife’s house. They arrive, and they find her lying on the floor with two bullet wounds in her head. Then they find your gun with your prints on it lying on the floor a few feet away.”
I tried to sit up, but she held up a hand.
“Hear me out, Nick,” she said. “It’s important to me that you understand what’s about to happen and that you know it isn’t personal.”
I stared at her, and all I wanted to do was wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze until she stopped talking, but I couldn’t. Every move I made was an effort, and I knew that if I was going to get out of this, I had to save my strength.
I eased back and did my best to stay calm.
Abby nodded. “Thank you, Nick.” She sat up and turned toward me. “Once they have a body and a murder weapon, the police will start an investigation. They’ll find your fingerprints on the fake rock in the backyard and on the hidden key inside. And then they’ll find you a few blocks away, lost in your current state, and covered in your wife’s blood.”
I bit down hard, but I didn’t say a word.
Abby reached up and ran her fingertips under her eyes, wiping away tears. “I am sorry about this. It’s been such a difficult decision to make, and it just breaks my heart, but I don’t have a choice. Until we purify those involved with my father’s work, and until the other girls . . .” She paused. “Until my sisters are safe and accounted for, you’re a threat to us.”
I kept staring at her, my breath heavy and loud.
“This way, when they arrest you it won’t matter if you talk. You can tell them your story about genetically enhanced children created in a laboratory by a dying mad scientist, but . . .” She stopped talking. Her eyes filled with pity. “All they’ll see is a lonely estranged husband whose wife is pregnant with another man’s child.”
I turned away.
“They’ll have her body, and when they match the bullets that killed her to your gun they’ll be more than satisfied.”
I wanted to say something, but when I tried, all that came out was an empty sound deep in the back of my throat.
