by Andrea Ring
I wiggle. I fidget. At 9:57, the girl begins to tremble. I can see the pulse in her neck jumping.
“Jesus, Dad, help her.”
“Watch.”
At 10:02, she expels the last gasp of air from her lungs and bolts upright.
“God damn it!” she yells.
Dad sits on her cot beside her and rubs her arm. My eyes freeze on his flesh touching hers. “Over forty-eight minutes, Viv,” he says.
She growls at him. “Not good enough.”
“Forty-eight minutes—”
“My red blood cells have stopped adapting, Mike. I’ve been under fifty minutes for what, three months now? I’ve hit my limit.”
“You know that there’s no record of a human being able to hold their breath that long.”
“There is now.”
Dad sighs. “Are you hungry?”
The fight goes out of her at the mention of her stomach. “A bit.”
“Eat. Rest,” he urges her.
“I’ve been at this for years,” she says. “I guess another hour won’t hurt.” Then her head snaps up and her eyes widen. “Thomas,” she says.
“Hey, Viv.”
Vivian’s eyes search my face. “God, it’s been what? A decade? You look like your dad, except for the eyes.”
“Yes, they’re my mother’s,” I say. “Have you been sleeping with my father this entire time?”
Viv’s eyes grow even wider, and Dad jumps up and grabs my arm.
“Jesus, Thomas! Apologize to Vivian right now!”
“I’m sorry I know nothing about your relationship because my father prefers to lie to me.”
Dad slaps me hard across the cheek.
“How dare you! You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about! Out. Now. We need to talk.”
But I don’t move.
“Mike.”
Dad stares at me, fuming.
“Michael!”
He turns to Viv as though suddenly realizing she’s here, a witness. “What?”
“It was just a question. He saw something, he reacted. You can’t punish him for being observant.”
“So I was right,” I say.
Dad actually bares his teeth at me.
“Don’t help me,” Viv says to me. Then she stands and pulls on Dad’s arm until there is some distance between us. “We’re close, but we are not sleeping together, Thomas.”
I want to believe her, but I don’t. I notice that all conversation in the room has stopped, and everyone is looking at Dad, waiting for him to react.
“This is not the time or place for this conversation,” Dad says, anger still threading his voice.
“I’m a Dweller now, isn’t that right? You said that Dwellers are open. That they discuss everything right in this room.”
“Not this.” And Dad grips my arm, though not as roughly as I thought he would, and takes me to room number seven.
We’re in another isolation room, identical to Dacey’s but without a chess set. Dad makes me sit while he paces the room.
“We’re going to start with your behavior. These people are my friends and my colleagues, and you have no right to speak to them, any of them, the way you spoke to Vivian.”
“I apologize.”
“When we return to GP, you will say that to her, and mean it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“No one questions me in public. No one! Not even my son. Ask your questions.”
I sigh. I wish that Dad would just spill it, his entire story. Why does he always make me work for it?
“Are you sleeping with Vivian?”
“No.”
“No, as in not as this moment, or no, as in you are not in a relationship with Vivian, or no, as in you have not slept with Vivian since I brought her out of that coma ten years ago?”
“All of it.”
“How come she came back here? I mean, after all they did to her…you told me she moved to LA and just wanted a normal life.”
Dad’s mouth tightens. “She tried having a normal life, but it wasn’t that easy. Ultimately, she felt that she needed to be around others who understood her.”
“But they put her in a coma and basically lost track of her!”
“That was before, Thomas. I’m in charge now, and I’d never let anything happen to her. I only assign experiments that the Dwellers have agreed to—hell, most of them design the experiments themselves. Vivian wants to contribute, and the Attic is the best place to do that.”
“So why aren’t you sleeping with Vivian?”
Dad sighs and sits in the chair opposite mine. “I thought, at first, that maybe it would happen. Us, as a couple. But it took her a while to get adjusted. She’d missed out on so many things…imagine waking up fifteen or twenty years from now. Technology has changed. Countries have changed. I changed. I’d lived an entire lifetime while she slept. It was too much of a hurdle for us.”
“But you’re close. You said you’re close.”
“We are,” Dad agrees. “But I feel like an older brother now. I’d do anything for her.”
“Then why haven’t you ever brought her around? I mean, if you’re just friends, you could have brought her over for dinner, at least.”
“Thomas, I decided to keep you out of this world until you were old enough to handle it. You don’t have to like that decision, but I stand by it.”
I sigh in frustration, knowing that I’m not going to get anywhere with this discussion.
“You know,” he says, “if you give Viv a chance, you might find you have a lot in common with her.”
“I don’t have a problem with Vivian. And I want you to be happy, whether that’s with Vivian or not. I just…you didn’t even tell me you were still in touch with her, and this is the second time, the second time you’ve lied to me about something major. I don’t feel like I can trust you.”
Dad’s body wilts. “I know. I know you feel that way. Thomas, I’ve spent my whole life keeping secrets. It’s not something I’ve done on purpose, or without a purpose, I mean. I’ve been trying to protect you.”
“Then why did you finally bring me here?”
Dad sighs. “Because you’re needed. The things you can do…they are desperately needed.”
So this isn’t about me. This isn’t about giving me an outlet for my boredom and frustration, or a way of exercising my brain and abilities. This is about some greater good.
And that realization brings to mind all the problems I have with Dad, and why I need to be on my guard. These freaking people at the Attic are the same ones who forced Dad and Vivian to try to have a child when they were eighteen. Vivian actually did have their child, a daughter, and Dad still hasn’t worked up the courage to reach out to her, despite finding out about her ten years ago.
Of course, Dad says he’s in charge now and things are different. Maybe. But he takes orders from someone, too. Until I know who’s really running the show, I can’t let my guard down. Dad’s not known for his honesty with me.
Which begs the question, how do I know he’s telling the truth now? How do I know he doesn’t have some hidden agenda?
And now I’m scared, terrified, actually. What if they don’t let me leave?
I wipe the frown off my face and stand, projecting confidence I don’t feel. “Let’s go so I can apologize. I’m sorry for what I said to Vivian, and for questioning you in front of the others. I’ll make it right.”
“Thank you,” Dad says.
“So has anyone else taken my protein?”
Dad shakes his head. “That reminds me. I need to send Dr. Trent in to see Dacey. You gave him quite a bit to think about.”
“You mean, no one else had thought of that?”
Dad rises and we exit to the hallway. “Well, regeneration is the goal of a lot of our experiments, but the Dwellers have their limits. Dacey is the first to really try anything so outrageous. Most of us have grown new limbs, but it’s a long process and difficult to hea
l. And remember, you grow a third eye and you’ll be stuck in here, so don’t get any ideas.”
He smiles as we go through the scans and re-enter GP. “Why don’t you have your talk with Vivian while I talk to Dr. Trent?”
Raj is still lifting his bottle. I nod at him and reach Vivian’s side. She’s as still as a corpse. I decide to sit on the floor and wait for her.
Dad approaches a couple of minutes later with a thin man in a lab coat at his heels. I jump to my feet, and we’re introduced, again, since I met him ten years ago. He was the one taking care of Vivian when she was still in a coma.
“Dr. Trent and I are going to check in with Dacey. Will you be okay here?”
My heart pounds and I swallow hard. “No problem.”
Dad thumps me on the back and they leave. I turn around to check on Vivian and find her sitting up looking at me.
“Uh, hello, ma’am,” I say.
“Ma’am? Do I look like I’m old enough to be a ma’am?”
“Uh…miss?”
Vivian laughs. “I’m definitely not young enough to be a miss.”
She pats the cot beside her, but before I can sit, I have to apologize.
“I’m very sorry for the way I acted. I was rude. Unforgivably so. I hope you can forgive me.”
“That is the best damn apology anyone’s ever given me,” she says with a laugh. “Now sit.”
I sit.
“I was in your position once, you know,” she says. “Except I was eighteen, not sixteen, and I was completely alone. Coming here was the scariest thing I’d ever done.”
“How did you get here?” I ask, even though I’ve heard the story from Dad.
“My father died of a heart attack, and my mother couldn’t live without him. She waited a few months, until I turned eighteen, then she told me to go to the nearest recruiting office and ask to go to the Attic. She burst her own heart. Literally. Fitting, I guess, since hers was already broken.”
“I’m sorry.”
Vivian smiles sadly. “Thanks. It just sucks, doesn’t it? I mean, so much of life is loss. Pain. It just—”
“Sucks,” I say, and we both smile. “I guess you do get it.”
“At least you have your dad. Thank God things have changed since I was eighteen, but it’s still a lab. We’re still a part of the military. It’s a tough place to be sometimes.”
“I…I’ve never been thankful for my dad before,” I say, and I see Vivian’s smile turn into a grimace of horror. “I mean, I love him, I revered him once, but I’ve never been able to rely on him. I just…I don’t think I know him very well.”
Vivian starts to cry, but she pays no attention to the tears. “That’s gonna change, honey, now that he’s brought you to the Attic. You’ll see. Your dad is a great guy. Strong. He always does what’s right, his duty. Michael Van Zandt does what needs to be done.”
She sounds like a disciple called to the pulpit to bear witness. How can I crush such faith? How can I tell her that that’s exactly what I’m afraid of?
Chapter Four
Dad and I do finally leave, and I cannot tell you the relief I feel when I’m out in the open air.
“So what do you think?” Dad asks me as we make the drive back to Orange County. “Was it what you expected?”
“In some ways,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “All the experiments, the people…you were right. They’re doing amazing things.”
“We are,” Dad says, nodding. “I can’t wait for you to be a part of it.”
“About that. What’s the plan?”
Dad’s knuckles whiten as he clenches the steering wheel. “We’re finally able to produce your Protein T, as you saw with Dacey. But there are issues. He’s had trouble controlling how much he produces, for one. And he’s slow at directing it. The protein can basically move throughout his bloodstream, and he can direct it to a cell, but once there he loses control of it if he doesn’t activate it right away. From what you’ve told me, you can move it through cells, blood, whatever, and it only activates on command.”
“Hmm,” I say, nodding and thinking that over. “Let’s take it from the beginning. So he’s replicated the structure of the protein.”
“Yes, but he couldn’t do that until we’d determined the amino acid sequence for him. Your genes dictate the sequence; you’re basically pre-coded. No one else is, that we’ve found.”
“So you’ve got the protein molecule built, you know it’s amino acid sequence and, I’m assuming, the fold, or he wouldn’t have been able to make the protein work.”
“Yep. That’s what took so long. The third structure, the unique fold that each protein contorts itself into, was unknown. Dacey had to figure it out on his own.”
“So…you have the structure of the protein molecule. You have the fold, so it can perform its proper function. Can Dacey move other proteins throughout his body?”
Dad nods. “Yes. Not as fast as you, but he has the same control you do.”
“And he can keep those proteins inactive at will?”
“Yep.”
I ponder the mystery for a few seconds. “After Mom died, I tried a few experiments. One time I swallowed a marble to see if I could feel it as part of my body.”
Dad’s mouth quirks up in a smile. “Yeah? Did it work?”
“Nope. I could tell it was there in my stomach, you know, as a foreign object, but I couldn’t sense it like I can the rest of my body. I think that’s what’s going on with Dacey. He’s created a foreign object. His body has no point of reference to recognize it. He’s lucky he’s been able to use it at all.”
“I know where you’re going with this,” Dad says. “And I’m vetoing it right now.”
“You’re gifted, but you’re not a mind reader,” I say. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“Because I’m thinking the same thing: genetic engineering.”
I sigh to myself—how does he do that?
“It’s the only answer, isn’t it?” I ask. “If we want someone to be able to use my protein.”
Dad stops at a streetlight and looks me in the eye. “Repeat after me: I will not willingly donate my DNA.”
“But Dad,” I say, “that’s ridiculous. My DNA is already out there. My doctor, Dr. Morley, took blood and ran tests years ago. When you took the protein from me for Dacey, surely some of my DNA was transferred. My hair falls out every day—”
He cuts me off with a sharp, “Thomas!”
I close my mouth.
“All taken care of. Repeat after me: I will not donate DNA. And I will not tell anyone that I can heal someone else.”
“Vivian and Dr. Trent know,” I say sullenly. “Dr. Rumson and Tessa, too.”
“And they will take that knowledge to their graves, if necessary. I trust them implicitly.”
“But Grandma—”
“Will be fine.”
“Why?” I whisper.
Dad sighs. “They knew about you. I had to bring you eventually. And with Tyrion, I couldn’t put it off. But if we don’t keep a lid on this…look, I’m all for science and progress. But this has to be done systematically and in secret. We do it our way, and in our time, period. I will never, ever see my son put through the things I went through. Got it?”
I stare out the window.
I feel guilt, guilt that I assumed my father cared more about the Attic and its experiments than he did about me.
And then I feel a certain elation, that I will be able to participate, but with someone watching my back.
And THEN I feel, I don’t know, uneasy, I guess. I’m going to have to lie. And I’ve never been good at that.
“Got it,” I whisper.
Chapter Five
I sit quietly through Sunday’s service, not really paying attention to anything Dr. Rumson says. I’ve got too many things on my mind.
When it’s over, I hover off to the side, waiting for Dr. Rumson to finish with his post-service greetings. I catch his eye while he’
s speaking to Mrs. Thurman, and he smiles—I think my presence gives him a great excuse to get away from her.
“Will you excuse me?” he says politely, extricating himself from her firm handshake and giving me one instead.
“You look all pent up,” he says, pumping my hand and pulling me into a hug.
“I feel all pent up,” I say into his shoulder.
“My office,” he says, and I follow him into the familiar and comforting space.
I’ve spent a lot of time here, at least an hour a week for almost ten years. I feel myself relax just being in Dr. Rumson’s presence.
We sit, and he raises an eyebrow at me.
“So my dad,” I begin. “No. Let me start somewhere else. We’ve had many discussions about the soul.”
Dr. Rumson nods.
“Well yesterday, I…Jesus, this is complicated.”
“I am not Jesus,” he says, chastising me.
“Sorry,” I say. “So sorry. Uh, yesterday, I learned of an experiment, highly classified, I don’t have to tell you, I mean…” I pause, fixated on his amused smile.
He nods. “Yes, the Attic, top secret, you don’t have to tell me.” He chuckles. “So your dad finally caved, huh?”
“He did, but that’s another issue for another time. See, this experiment…well, somebody grew a second head.”
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, I know it’s out there, but I saw it with my own eyes. A second head, a brain, the central nervous system connections…the freaking thing could breathe. And talk. And think, probably better than most of the people I know. And I’m calling it a thing, but he’s not. He’s a man. A thinking, feeling man.”
Dr. Rumson steeples his hands and presses his finger to his lips. “Go on.”
“So what about the soul?” I shriek. “The soul! I mean, did this guy create a soul? Did God infuse a soul as soon as the brain was created? Does he have no soul, but appear to have one? I don’t know what to think.”
“Tell me more,” he says, placing his hands flat on the desk. “He had a personality? Humor? Genuine feelings, separate from the original man.”
“Yes,” I say.
