“Mr. Kalispell told me that he allowed you to live after the wipe on your brain, but he wanted you back on the project. I had to accept you back. I had to get you back on Lucy, otherwise Mr. Kalispell would have found some other scientist to take my place, and no one but Michael would have been left to ensure your safety. We tried to make the whole experience as pleasant as possible for you. At least it would give you a purpose again, a job. Once again, offer a chance at a fresh start. It was never supposed to be like this; we had it all worked out. You were going to have a wonderful life: trips around the world, plenty of money. The serum was different; it never should have behaved the way that it did. I tested it on myself.”
There was uncomfortable silence in the room.
Dr. Wulfric put his face in his palms and said, “There’s something else you need to know.”
Dr. Wright straightened up in his chair, looking over his shoulder at the door.
“The reason you met Dr. Wright back when you were a child, the reason you did all of those early experiments before joining Lucy … was because of me.”
Ben looked at Stuart, then back at Peter. “I don’t understand?”
“Let me start way back, when I was young man. I was twenty or so, and I met a girl when I was in grad school who I fell in love with. She was a few years older than me. There was a diner across from campus where I ate after evening classes. She was a waitress there, and we got to talking. One thing led to another, and I eventually worked up the courage to ask her out on a date.
“She was a wild-child, we couldn’t have been more opposite, but we had a real connection, something I can’t logically explain or put into words. She drank too much and partied all the time. I didn’t mind back then, when I was a young man and didn’t know any better. We got engaged after dating for seven months. A year went by and we started fighting regularly. Her drinking was becoming a problem; she lost her job and would have lost her apartment as well if I had not been hired at Johns Hopkins. We were just scraping by. She suffered regularly from migraines, just like you, minus the aura. She spent days locked up in her room with the curtains drawn, and when she felt better, she would celebrate by getting drunk for a week. We still had plans to get married when we decided—she decided—that we should spend some time apart.”
Dr. Wulfric took a sip of water, and then continued. “For a year she wouldn’t see me. She rarely answered my calls, and refused to meet me face to face. She was … a complicated woman. I’ve been told that you can never truly understand the reasons why you love someone the way that you do, and I believe that to be true in my case. I loved her with all of my heart, even though she was bad for me; she tortured my very soul without the slightest care.
“A year later, we got back together. She was weak and sick looking. She was different somehow. She was very apologetic and affectionate, and we decided to get married later that week at the borough hall. A month into our marriage she made a confession: she had been pregnant during our one-year separation, and she gave the baby up for adoption. She said she wasn’t fit to be a mother, that we were too young to have children, that she needed the money the adoptive family paid her for food and rent during the pregnancy. She said my career would have been ruined, and that I should be thanking her. My heart was broken. I demanded to know where our child was—my child. She refused to tell me; she said she didn’t know. But she did.
“I searched for my child on my own, but to no avail. We weren’t married at the time of the adoption, so I had no immediate legal rights. She told the agency that she didn’t know who the father was. This is hard for me to admit … but maybe I could have tried harder … I gave up looking because I didn’t want to upset my wife, who objected at trying to find my daughter.
“The next few years together were consumed in strife. We split apart often, and in the end, we were just friends who would see each other now and again. Although we remained married until her last days, we lived in two separate houses and had two separate lives. Seven years passed, and one day, while things were good between us, we went out to breakfast. She drank several Bloody Mary’s, then told me she wanted to do something different, something new—she wanted to go roller skating. So we did.
At the park there just so happened to be a birthday party ending for a little girl when we arrived. The girl skated by me. I even waved to her. After the party left, my wife told me to sit down. She told me that I had just met my daughter.”
“Dr. Wulfric,” Ben interrupted. “Are you—”
“I’m your grandfather, Benjamin.”
The room was silent. Dr. Wright fidgeted in his chair, looking again at the door.
Dr. Wulfric sighed. Tears were rolling down his cheek. His voice was shaky and timid when he spoke again. “Your grandmother didn’t want me to meet her, didn’t want me to get attached. She didn’t want me to meet my own child. She thought it would only make things more complicated.
“We briefly lived together again around the time when you were born. She, your grandmother, was a very sick woman. I know that now, although at the time I was in denial. Her headaches progressed rapidly as she aged, and she would sometimes spend weeks locked in her room. I was resigned to the fate that I would never meet my daughter; never know what she looked like as an adult, or what type of women she had become.
“Then out of the blue, my daughter—your mother—showed up one day at our front door. She was an adult now. She was able to track us down through an agency, and she was holding you in her arms. I was speechless. We spent the first hour getting to know each other, talking and crying. It was lovely, beautiful. I can’t even tell you … but your grandmother … before you and your mother arrived, was already on her second glass of wine. By dinner, she was on three, and as the night continued, so did her drinking. We got into a fight. Whatever it was about, I don’t remember. My only guess is that she simply didn’t want a family. She wanted to be alone. She wanted everyone to go away so she could drink and be miserable, alone. I’m only telling you this story because I think you already know.”
Ben didn’t say anything.
“I saw it in several of your dreams, when I re-analyzed the recording from France, only your dream was blurry and the facts slightly off. You dreamt of your grandmother scolding you, telling you that you were a failure. That was true. She did say those things; only she wasn’t talking to you, she was talking to me. Your mother was in the bathroom, and you were in the kitchen as your grandmother’s mood went from borderline to aggressive. She was pouring a glass of wine when she turned to me, letting the wine pour freely from the spout. You were playing on the ground, and the wine poured all over you.
“When your mother came out of the bathroom, she was frightened to see you in my arms, dripping with wine and sobbing uncontrollably, as your grandmother went off on a tangent that was barely comprehensible. She took you from my arms and left. In due time we would have made amends, but a month later I found out that she had been killed in an accident.”
“So why didn’t you tell me you were my grandfather sooner? Why did I end up living with her, and not you?”
“I …” the tears were now running down his cheek. “At first, after the event with you getting covered in wine, I knew—or thought I knew—that perhaps my wife was correct: you would be better off not knowing us. We were not fit to be parents or grandparents. I thought you were better off not getting involved in our life.”
“I … don’t know what to say.”
Dr. Wulfric continued, “I learned from that one dinner that you were suffering from migraines, just like your grandmother. After your mother died and you were given to a foster family, they decided to keep limited communication with your grandmother. We were no longer living together, or even trying to rekindle our relationship, so it was easy for her to keep me in the dark. However, I learned that your migraines were getting severe, so I introduced you to my colleague, Dr. Stuart Wright. That way, I could keep a better eye on you without interfering. As far as yo
u living with her, I was kept unaware of that until after you moved in. We rarely spoke at that time. She told me you moved in with another foster family. It was Dr. Wright who told me the truth, but by that time, it was too late to do anything about it.
“I got you involved with Lucy as a way to make up for all the years. It was supposed to pay you, and pay you well. Set you up to have a wonderful life. I was going to reveal to you my identity then, but … I kept putting it off. I couldn’t work up the courage to tell you. Your grandmother was right, we would have made horrible parents. I’m so sorry … for everything. Never … never, in a million years, would I have brought you into this if I knew how things were going to turn out. I’m … a horrible person; I’ve failed you in so many ways—so many times.”
Ben cleared the lump out of his throat. “I’m so sorry.”
“Ben, my boy, you have nothing to be sorry about. My God. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“You’re a good man. I know you are. You didn’t deserve to deal with all of that, and I’m sure you would have been a great father if given a real chance. If it’s any consolation, I forgive you. I forgive you for everything you might feel guilty about, and I would like … to get to know you.”
Dr. Wulfric took Ben’s hand, patting it with his palm, “I may not be much, but I am your family, and I’m all that’s left. Why don’t I tell you all about myself.”
Dr. Wright stood, “I think it’s time for you two to be alone. Michael?” Michael stood, and they walked to the door.
***
“I have one more question for you—all of you.” Stuart Wright and Michael Bennet were back in the room after a long drive. Everyone turned to Ben. “What do we do now?”
“That’s a good question,” Dr. Wulfric said. “Michael went to see Mr. Kalispell this morning.”
“You met with him? Face to face?” Ben’s eyes went wide. “Are you crazy? He could have killed you right then and there!”
“He would never do that.” Michael shook his head. “He hates getting his own hands dirty. If he was going to have me killed, he wouldn’t be present while it happened.”
“We gave him an ultimatum,” Dr. Wulfric cut in. “Here in this room, we have all the essential documents on Lucy.” He went on to explain to Ben all of the information they had gathered on the project, and Michael told Ben about his meeting with Mr. Kalispell that very morning.
“So, we’re blackmailing him,” Ben said.
“Yes, essentially.”
“Still, what’s to stop him from simply killing us and destroying the data—or at least trying to destroy the data before we enter in our codes? I don’t know if blackmailing him is the best option.”
“Actually,” Michael said, “blackmailing him is the best option. I swore to Mr. Kalispell that all we want to do is walk away. We don’t want to go public. We don’t want anything to do with Lucy. We don’t want fame or glory. We don’t want to see him behind bars, and we most certainly don’t want to go to prison ourselves. We just want out. I’ve been working for Mr. Kalispell for many years now, and I know he’s rather comfortable with bribes and blackmail. He’d rather not have additional deaths on his hands to worry about, if there’s a way around it. If Mr. Kalispell genuinely wanted us all killed, we would all be dead by now. The fact that we are still alive right now is a blessing. As long as we stay quiet and go our separate ways, we’ll be all right. I think I’ve convinced him that we have no desire to go public.”
“What about Lucy? Or Dr. Egan?”
Dr. Wulfric answered, “Lucy is dead. I took all the important files from the lab, and without me, the project can’t continue.” He poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on Ben’s nightstand. “Unfortunately, Dr. Egan was fired, but that’s a risk he knew he was taking when he took the job. He’ll be fine. He’s a bright boy and we’ve kept him in the dark about Drapery Falls all of these years, so there’s no threat to his safety.”
“So what now?”
“Well,” Dr. Wulfric said. “I have an idea …”
Chapter 27
The loudspeakers in the airplane made a crackling noise, then a pleasant female spoke in French, followed by English:
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will now begin our descent. The captain has put on the ‘fasten seatbelt’ sign. Make sure your trays and seats are in their upright positions, and turn off all electronic devices. The outside temperature is 72 degrees, and sunny.”
Ben filed out of the plane with the rest of the passengers, holding his carryon.
He retrieved his bag at the baggage carousel and left the airport. He had with him all of the possessions that he currently owned. Back at the hotel in upstate New York, Ben had called his landlord and worked things out so he would pay two months’ rent and lose his security deposit, but he would be out of his lease. The man was upset, but Ben had been a good tenant.
Ben didn’t return to the apartment. He left everything behind.
He signed his car over to Dr. Wright, who promised to sell it and wire Ben the money. Not that it mattered. Money would never be an issue again. His suitcase was full of it.
Before leaving the hotel room, Michael gave Ben two duffel bags. One contained Ben’s own money that Iain had taken from his apartment when he broke in. The other duffel bag contained his share of the money that Michael had blackmailed out of Mr. Kalispell. There were so many crisp stacks of cash in numbered bands that Ben felt dizzy when he unzipped the duffel bag. Mere pennies to Mr. Kalispell, but enough money for a regular guy like Ben to get by for many years. Maybe he’d open another bar. Maybe.
Dr. Wulfric drove Ben to the airport, and on the way, he handed him a thick manila envelope.
Ben looked at the folder in his hands. “What’s this?”
“Just open it up. I’ll explain.”
Over a dozen or so black and white photographs were stacked inside. They ranged in time from their trip to Paris until the day before Emily showed up in his apartment.
“My god,” Ben said.
There she was, clear as day. The beautiful Sophia Lorenz. Ben felt a rush of relief. She was real, and he longed to hold her tight, smell her clean hair as it pressed against his face. A few tears came to his eyes, but he held them back. The pictures showed them having drinks at The Metro, eating dinner at Steaks and Capitol. It showed them talking at the Paris airport when they first met and walking hand in hand in Rome. Then there were the pictures at the end of the stack …
Dr. Wulfric pointed to the photographs, not taking his eyes off the road. “Those were taken after our trip to Rome, when the serum had mutated.” One showed Ben driving to the airport in Baltimore—alone. Another showed him walking through the parking lot toward the airport entrance holding nothing but air in his hand.
“She wasn’t there.”
“No. She wasn’t. Not that time.”
Ben put the photos away, and left them in the car. He did not want to see them ever again.
A cab took Ben from the airport to the Euro Alliance Institute, in Paris, France. He removed his luggage and waited near the front door. He stood on a small bridge overlooking a thin stream that he wondered might be a tributary of the Seine.
He waited there watching the water, and looking at the faces of the people as they left the building. An hour passed, and as he stood leaning against the ornate guardrail of the bridge, he envisioned tossing into that moving water the one possession that he still owned. He stroked it gently in his pocket. He envisioned it caught up in the current, floating away to be lost on the horizon.
And then he saw her.
She did not see him. She walked wearing a backpack, her hair tied high in a ponytail. Sophia was within arm’s reach on the bridge when she saw him.
“Ben!” She was taken aback. “Oh my God!”
She reached out and hugged him. He squeezed her tight. Her hair smelled of vanilla, and he stroked the side of her head, feeling the softness of her hair in his hand.
“Ben! What are
you doing here? Are you okay? I’ve been calling you for days, where have you been? I’ve been so worried.”
She took a step back and looked at his face. “Are you okay, Ben? Are you sick?”
His mouth was trembling, but he wasn’t sad.
“I … I think we need to talk. I have a lot to tell you—I have to tell you everything.”
“Of course, Ben. Of course.”
She led him away, off the busy street, toward her apartment. She held his elbow, her body against his.
At that moment, Ben had everything he could ever want or need: the girl that he loved, his sanity, plenty of money, and the one possession that Dr. Wulfric found folded into a square in his pocket when Michael brought him unconscious to the hotel room.
The painting of the cabin in the woods.
Epilogue
-From the ‘Journal of Science Tomorrow,’ December:
In what is being described as the most groundbreaking, if not controversial story of the century, the scientists who created the much-talked-about Lucy, or the Frequency Responding Lucid Transmitter, are set to give a press conference later this week.
The machine that goes by the casual name ‘Lucy’ made international headlines last week when lead scientist, Dr. Charles Egan, made his announcement to the world that yes, they have created a machine capable of reading and mapping out thoughts and images created during a person’s sleep cycle in great detail. No further statements were provided to explain how the machine operates.
In response to these claims, human rights activists from around the globe have raised their voices in protest, stating that the machine is in direct violation of personal rights and privacy. Eugene Rhymes, a spokesperson for Empowering Rights, issued the following statement:
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