by Andrea Ring
He chuckles. “I haven’t done a proper cleaning in here in years. Couldn’t work up the energy. But I’ve got the energy now, thanks to you.”
I’m secretly pleased, but I don’t want to talk about it. So I say, “You know the other day, when I told you we have a dilemma?”
“Refresh my memory,” he says, spraying a shelf with Pledge. I love that smell—it reminds me of Mom. “I’m still a little sketchy.”
I tell him about Dad wanting me to find a private lab so I can work on my abilities and my personal safety. “I guess…I’ve just wanted this for so long, and now that it’s happening, it’s frightening.”
“Well, let’s look at your options,” he says. “You could do nothing. Don’t go to the Attic, don’t go to any lab, don’t participate.”
“But that doesn’t get me closer to my goal, which is to actually heal people.”
“Then it seems to me you need a facility, one way or the other,” he says. He sits down next to me, still carrying his dust rag. The lemony scent tickles my nose. “You could go public.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Call Oprah. Call CNN or Fox News. Tell them what you can do. Show them. Find the researcher you most want to work with and plead your case. If you’re known, it will be harder for someone to get to you.”
“But…”
“But what?” he asks.
“But…going public has consequences for the others. Is it fair of me to out them, too?”
“Who says you have to out anyone? This is about you. You don’t have to mention anyone else.”
“But they’ll ask me. Of course they’ll ask me if there are others like me. You know I have a hard time lying.”
“Thomas, there is no one like you. That’s an honest answer.”
Strictly speaking, maybe, but I wouldn’t call that answer honest.
“Okay, so what happens then?” I ask Dr. Rumson. “Paparazzi hound me, people camp out on my front lawn so I can heal them?”
“Probably,” he says. “And you’ll get your share of nuts, claiming you’re a fraud. Maybe some death threats.”
“Gee,” I say. “This option gets more appealing by the minute.”
Dr. Rumson chuckles. “Okay, maybe the news route isn’t the way to go. Go to a university. Talk to some of the leaders in your field. Find someone you trust.”
“I have three people in the whole world I trust, outside of family. You, Tessa, and Erica. I’m not exactly a pro at making friends. I guess that’s the scary part.”
He pats my knee. “It’s time for you to evolve, my boy.”
Chapter Twelve
“Okay. Go.”
I stride across the room and stand next to a pretty blonde. She’s eyeing the paintings on the wall, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Subtle, isn’t it?” I say. “The way the light plays across her face. As though the sun’s reaching for her.”
The girl looks at me and cocks her head, but stays silent.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“I find it a bit boring, to be honest,” she says. “There’s not much expression in her face.”
“Because it’s not about her, it’s about the light,” I say. I hold out my hand. “I’m Thomas.”
She shakes my hand lightly. “Hello, Thomas.”
“And you are?”
“Late, actually,” she says, turning away from me.
I sigh. “What did I do wrong?”
Tessa faces me and smiles. “You need to play off what I said. Ask me why I think the painting’s boring. I don’t even know you. I don’t care what you think.”
I kick my toe into the carpet, frustrated.
“Try it again.”
I go back over to the other side of the room and start again. I stride across the room to Tessa.
“This is one of my favorites,” I say.
Tessa stays silent. I look at her profile.
“You look like her, actually.”
“I do?”
“Yes. You’re much more expressive, though. This girl in the painting doesn’t have much expression.”
Tessa fights a smile. “I think it’s a pretty boring painting, to be honest.”
I consider the painting. “Why’s that?”
“She’s not expressing any strong emotion, like you said. It’s just a picture of a girl.”
“So you like art to express emotion?”
She turns to me. “Don’t you? I mean, what’s the point of art? To evoke a response.”
“I’ve never thought of it like that. I tend to judge art by the competence of the artist.”
“But in what sense? The artist should be competent enough to provoke you in some way.”
“So this artist doesn’t provoke you?” I ask.
She smiles. “Not with this painting, but there are a few…that one, there, of the guy with his heart on his sleeve, that one provokes me.”
I look at the oil painting of me slumped in a chair, a life-like heart in mid-beat throbbing on my arm.
“What does that one make you feel?” I ask her.
“Curious,” she says, “about the guy, about why he’s so emotional, why there’s sadness in his eyes. And it makes me feel sad, like I can feel his pain.”
I swallow. “You think he’s in pain?”
She holds out a hand to me. “I’m Tessa, by the way. Sometimes, yes, I think he’s in pain. But we all feel that. That’s why I like the painting. I understand it.”
I squeeze her hand. “I’m Thomas. Would you like to have a cup of coffee, talk about it some more?”
“I’d love to.”
I throw my arms around her and she squeaks. We fall to the bed, laughing.
“So I did better that time?”
“Perfect,” she says, giving me a kiss. “Did you see the difference in your approach that time?”
I roll off of her and prop my head up with one arm. “Sort of. I played off what you said.”
“And you didn’t lecture me,” she says. “People don’t like a know-it-all.”
I smile. “You know, you just taught me how to pick up a girl.”
Tessa smiles back. “I taught you how to make a friend. And I’m counting on you using your powers for good instead of evil.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dad and I head down to the Attic for my second visit on a bright Sunday morning. It’s more of a beach day than a lab day, but since I’m the one who’s been begging to go to the Attic for years, I guess I have to be content.
Content is perhaps the wrong word. I am resigned. And almost paralyzingly nervous.
I regulate on the drive, just a bit. I slow my breathing, keep my heart beating at a calm pace, suppress my sweat glands and the release of adrenaline. If I go in showing fear, they’ll probably smell it on me.
“So Dacey and Tyrion are our first stop?” I ask as we cruise up the tree-lined drive.
“Yep. They’re still in isolation. Dr. Trent is running tests, trying to come up with a workable plan for Tyrion.”
“What’s he got so far?”
“Not much,” Dad admits. “They’re thinking of doing the limbs first, then resting a few months before growing the rest.”
“Why the limbs?” I ask. “They’re the most useless parts.”
“They’re the known,” Dad says. “We’ve grown limbs hundreds of times. We know exactly how much energy they take to create.”
I don’t say anything else. They’re going about this backwards, but I just want to talk to Dacey about it. Since he’s the only other Dweller who’s grown cells in the central nervous system, I figure he’s the one to bounce ideas off of.
We’re checked in and heading down in the elevator when Dad says, “Vivian is out today.”
I look at him, but he’s staring straight ahead. “Oh?”
“She’s spending the weekend with Jack.”
Jack. Jacqueline. My sister. Dad’s other child.
“So…have you…”
>
“No.”
Guess that answers that. Dad hasn’t seen her, hasn’t talked to her. I don’t get it, but we’ve had enough arguments about it, and I don’t want to get into it again here.
We exit the elevator, and I fight to keep my breakfast down. I stop at door five.
“You coming in?” I ask Dad, since he makes no move toward the scanner.
“I want to check in with Dr. Trent. You go. I’ll be there in a bit.”
I nod, slide my card, and scan my eyes. The door opens.
***
“Hello?” I say, trying to be polite.
Dacey and Tyrion rise from their chair and walk to greet me.
“Thomas,” Dacey says, shaking my hand. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks,” I say. “How are you guys?”
They exchange a look. “Hanging in there,” they say at the same time.
They wave me to a chair and we sit.
“So my dad said you guys are planning on the big split.”
Dacey grins, and Tyrion sighs.
“The big split,” Dacey says. “I like that.”
“You would,” Tyrion says.
“You’re still not on board?” I ask Tyrion.
“We are looking at a year, probably more,” he says. “And it has already been a year. Another year without sunlight. Another year without being home. Another year without sex.”
“Ouch,” I say with a smile.
Dacey just shakes his head.
“I feel your urges,” Tyrion says. “This has not been easy.”
“It’s worth it,” Dacey says.
“So you’re thinking about limbs first,” I say.
Dacey nods. “Those will be the easiest. We know what to expect, and I can grow them in my sleep. I once had twenty toes.”
I laugh. “How’d you get rid of them?”
“I cut off the blood supply to them, and we surgically removed the dead flesh.”
I cringe thinking about it. “Well, I don’t think that’s the way to go.”
“You do not?” Tyrion says.
“No. The key to the whole thing is managing the strain on Dacey’s body, mainly his heart and his calorie output. Why waste time and resources on the limbs? Tyrion, you can grow limbs yourself after you’re separated.”
“He can’t,” Dacey says. “His DNA’s not coded for it.”
“But you took the cells from your own body to create him,” I say. “You passed on your DNA.”
“I started with my own sperm cells, actually,” Dacey says, “because they were my best source of stem cells. But as you probably know, with the exception of your dad, male Dwellers do not pass on our abilities.”
“Hmmm. Okay. I still think you should do the major organs first. A second heart would help take the load off of you, Dacey.”
“I see your point,” he says, “but I’ve never done it. Never built a heart. It took me years of planning to get the brain right. You can see my on-the-fly attempts at growing other body parts.” He points at Tyrion, who smiles.
“You did just fine,” I say. “I can probably talk you through the heart. We can practice. I’ve grown cardiomyocytes. Took me about twenty seconds to repair about one-sixth of the heart.”
Dacey sits up straighter in his chair. “You’ve healed your own heart?”
So much for my promise of secrecy. Damn me and my mouth.
I take a few deep breaths and consider the situation. Dad wants me to consult with Dacey. I want to help save Tyrion. They are both Dwellers, trustworthy and, ultimately, isolated. Who can they tell?
“No,” I say. “A friend had a heart attack in front of me. I healed him.”
“You what?”
“Didn’t you ever wonder about Vivian?”
“Vivian had a heart attack?” he asks, rising.
“No, no. Vivian’s fine. Ten years ago…you never wondered what happened to her?”
Dacey sits back down and shakes his head. “There was nothing to wonder about. They told us she’d been in a self-induced coma and brought herself out of it.”
I’ve entered dangerous territory here, and I know it. This is something Dad would want me to keep quiet about.
“Can I trust you to keep a secret?” I ask.
Dacey and Tyrion are silent, and it’s obvious they’re communicating.
“Turn your chair,” Dacey says, pointing and lowering his voice. “Face me. Yes. Bend forward, just a bit. And whisper. The room’s wired.”
I stiffen. It never occurred to me that Dacey was under surveillance. My lack of street smarts pains me.
I do as Dacey asks.
“This secret might put you in danger?” Tyrion asks.
I nod.
“Then yes. Absolutely. You have my word.” He looks at Dacey.
Dacey is weighing me with his eyes. “If you can heal, Thomas…you have to do it.”
“If I can heal,” I whisper, “there’s nothing I want more. But it has to be on my terms. I won’t be stuck down here strapped to a bed.”
Dacey nods. “Of course. Your dad knows?”
I nod.
“And he doesn’t want the Attic to know.”
I nod again.
“We’re in,” Dacey says. “You have our word. Tell us what you can do.”
***
“You want me to demonstrate?” I ask them.
Dacey nods, and Tyrion says, “What does that involve?”
“Well, if you have a problem in the extremities, like a cut on your finger, it’s pretty simple. I can cut my own finger, then attach my finger to yours. I use my own platelets and cells to heal you. Want to try it?”
They get up and motion me to follow them. “No cameras in here,” Dacey says as we enter their bathroom. They hold out their hand.
I take my pocketknife out, slice my finger and theirs, and press the cuts together. Ten seconds later we’re both healed.
“Amazing,” Tyrion whispers, waving his finger in front of his eyes.
We wipe away the blood, and I clean my knife.
“But how did you do the heart? Without scans, how do you know what you’re healing?” Dacey asks.
“I hook up to the subject’s nervous system. As soon as my nerves are attached to the brain stem, I have access to the entire body—I sense it as well as I sense my own. Thoughts, pain, emotions…everything.”
“And you have done this how many times?” Tyrion asks.
“Just twice. Vivian and my friend.”
“What happened with Vivian?”
I tell them about bringing her out of a coma, and how it took me a week to heal myself. We go back into the main room, since Dacey’s afraid someone will notice if we’re gone too long, and resume our seats, my back still to the camera.
“What about cancer?” Dacey whispers. “If you turn stem cells on and tell them to grow, how do you turn them off and prevent them from turning into a tumor?”
“I only produce the exact amount of Protein T I need and I only target it at the cells I want to grow, because you’re right. If I left the protein floating around, it would continue to activate any nearby cells and could, theoretically, lead to cancer.”
Dacey’s eyes slip sideways toward Tyrion, but he doesn’t turn his head.
“Are you worried about cancer?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “The others…it happened so fast. Of course, it’s something I’m always alert to.”
“The others?” I ask.
Dacey looks at Tyrion, whose mouth hardens into a grim line.
“What others?” I ask again.
“The others who took your proteins,” Dacey says, and Tyrion growls.
“No! No, Dacey. It is not our place to tell him.”
I sit back in my chair. “Dad told me four other people originally took my protein. You mean…they all developed cancer?” I swallow hard, afraid to hear their response.
Dacey nods once.
“Are they here? I can help them.”
Tyr
ion and Dacey reach out and place a hand on top of mine. “I’m sorry, Thomas,” Dacey says.
“You mean…all of them? Gone?”
They both nod. “It happened in less than twenty-four hours,” Dacey says. “While they slept. They didn’t feel a thing.”
“But I…so my dad just injected them with Protein T, and that was it? They had no training, no warning, no inkling of what would happen?” I stand, and my voice rises as I continue. “But this is a freaking research facility! The best of the best! None of you thought about what would happen with the protein floating around? I was seven years old and I could have told you! I could have stopped it! Why? Why didn’t anyone ask me?”
“Thomas,” Tyrion says, but I ignore him.
“This is fucking ridiculous!” I say. “I’ve been kept in the dark, and for what? Four Dwellers dead, because of me!”
I pace, guilt warring with anger at my father, propelling me about the room.
“Thomas, it is not your fault,” Tyrion says. “You were seven. No one knew what would happen. Death is a risk all of the Dwellers face on a daily basis.”
I fling myself into the chair and frown. “But this was preventable, Tyrion. I could have stopped it, and I didn’t.”
“We had this discussion ten years ago, you know,” Dacey says. “Four people volunteered to take the protein. They all died that night from massive tumors. When autopsies revealed the problem, we immediately knew what had happened. No one thought bringing you in was a good idea, Thomas. As you said, you were seven. No one wanted you to have those deaths, of brave and courageous people, hanging over you. And it wasn’t your fault, nor even your dad’s. We were all a bit hasty in trying out something new. And it was a lesson we learned well.”
I hang my head and blow out a loud breath. “Jesus, though. It’s such a waste.”
“No!” I jerk my head up at Dacey’s sharp dismissal. “What we do here is never a waste! Those Dwellers did not die in vain, and you need to wrap your head around that right now. We learned. Even death has a purpose.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Have a care, Dacey,” Tyrion chides softly. “Thomas is intelligent and obviously has a great deal of empathy. He is not cursing the Dwellers; he is feeling guilty.”
Dacey sighs.
