Systematic (The System Series Book 2)

by Andrea Ring

  “What are you doing?” she murmurs.

  I ignore the question and get her naked and sprawled on my bed. I crawl over her body and explore every inch. Tessa sighs, she squeals, she giggles, she moans.

  An hour later, I lift my head and lie down beside her. She strokes my back and faces me.

  “What’s gotten into you?”

  “I just needed to remember,” I say.

  “Remember what?”

  “Why I believe in God.”

  Tessa laughs and punches my arm. “You’re such a guy.”

  I smile. “I’m serious. I feel like I’m being tested.”

  “How?”

  “My faith. Olivia, this girl I healed, she’s brain dead. Basically, dead. If she weren’t hooked up to a ventilator, she would have passed months ago.”

  “How do you know that?” Tessa asks.

  I give her a look.

  “No, seriously, Thomas, how do you know that? Miracles happen. People come back from comas. People declared brain dead wake up. It happens.”

  “Just because it has happened,” I say, “doesn’t mean it happens regularly. She was a goner, Tessa.”

  “And what? You got her to wake up so you think that’s proof there’s no God?”

  “No. I only got her breathing her own, but that really doesn’t matter. I mean, I think I can do even more, like create a whole person from scratch. But if I managed to do it, what about God?”

  “Why do you assume your abilities are all about you?” Tessa asks. “Maybe God is with you, helping even, while you heal.”

  I shake my head. “I’ve never felt him. Well, maybe I felt something when I was about to heal Grandma, but that could have been indigestion.”

  Tessa smiles. “What did you feel?”

  “A strength,” I whisper. “As though God Himself blew His life’s breath into my lungs.”

  Tessa laughs. “And you want to dismiss that as indigestion?”

  I laugh, too. “Maybe I’m remembering it wrong,” I say.

  “You don’t remember anything wrong,” she reminds me. “Why are you fighting this? Millions of people around the world would give their life to feel God’s breath for one moment. Take His help and be grateful.”

  I stare at Tessa.

  I remember when I was contemplating my choice of labs, and I chose Kate and Kenneth because I believed they have the perfect partner, the perfect sounding board, in each other. And my first thought was that I didn’t have that with Tessa.

  I’m an ass.

  This beautiful person just gave me every bit of herself, body and soul, without reservation. She lets me vent, lets me question, and is the perfect counterpoint of reason to my unreasonable mind.

  How could I ever have doubted it?

  Tessa is my perfect match.

  I just have to make sure I’m hers.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  I get an email from Pastor Brooks late that night, even though I’ve never given him my address.

  Thomas,

  Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

  Indulge me, please, just a moment more.

  My wife Lora and I started the Sinners Way Church with no intention of leading it. Yes, we had become Christians, but I was far from a religious scholar. We hired a trained minister to oversee the budding congregation, and I figured I would be a counselor. Who better to help people lead a clean life than one who’d wallowed in the mud and found his way into the bath of God?

  But the minister we hired adhered to a very loose interpretation of the Scriptures. You use drugs? God loves you anyway. You cheated on your spouse? God understands that earthly bodies may be tempted. You had an abortion at sixteen? Pray for forgiveness, and God will understand.

  He gave human beings an excuse for any behavior.

  I instinctively knew this to be folly.

  Give human beings an excuse for their sins, and they will latch onto it like a dog to a bone.

  There are no excuses.

  Now that’s not to say a person can’t repent and make amends. But the person must be sincere, determined, and unwavering. True repentance takes time. Sometimes a lifetime.

  I am still at it.

  So I went to seminary school, and I studied, and I watched how the people of my congregation behaved. And when I took over the ministry at the church, and I started to preach about sin as a hole you fall into and cannot climb out of rather than sin as a human right, do you know what happened?

  People ran.

  As far and as fast as they could.

  It took me years to refine my message, to redefine the way people think about their relationship with God.

  I thought I’d learned the proper way to communicate that, but it seems I fell back on my old habits today. With you.

  I do have one gift, a small thing, that has helped me tremendously with the church: I can see when a person’s close to sinning. I feel it, I sense it. Then I try to avert it. I’ve dedicated my life to doing this.

  You are a good person on the verge of greatness. But remember, too, that Hitler was great. Evil to the core, sinning with every breath he took…but great.

  Thomas, when I think about what you accomplished with Olivia, my faith is bolstered. Just as it is when I see a fireman run into a burning building, or see a teacher teach a child to read, or watch Kobe Bryant defy gravity and slam dunk a shot. Human beings living and breathing and excelling and testing their limits—it’s all part of God’s glorious plan. We are meant to slam against the barriers and tumble them to the ground.

  Where is the end point? What is truly impossible?

  Only God can answer that. Because us human beings, we constantly step up to that impossible barrier and smash it down. It’s what God means for us to do.

  I know you need time. If and when you feel you can come back for Olivia, that you’re ready to once again face the barrier, we will be here waiting. I am at your disposal.

  Sincerely yours,

  Cyrus

  ***

  Even though I can recite the email by heart, I print it out, fold it into a tightly packed two-inch square and put it under my pillow.

  At three AM, I peel the covers off, hop out of bed, and open my laptop.

  I open a reply message to Cyrus.

  I’ll be there at 10.

  Then I lay my head back down and fall asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I wake before the sun’s up and stumble to the kitchen to make coffee. Dad’s already there, waiting for the pot to brew.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey.”

  He scrubs a hand across his face. “Thanksgiving’s coming up. Is it okay with you if Erica and her family come here?”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. “You’re gonna cook a turkey?”

  He smiles. “No, I thought the lady of the house should do that.”

  “The lady of the house?”

  We stare at each other, and I’m the one who cracks first. “When?”

  “They have until December fifth to move, but it’ll probably happen gradually. We’re gonna try to move a few things every night.”

  My heart starts thumping like a bass drum.

  “We’re not sure…well, let me just lay it all out there, what we’re thinking,” Dad says.

  “That’ll be refreshing,” I say.

  Dad just shakes his head. “Ideally, Tessa would be out of high school, and Erica and I would be married, before taking this step. We realize that’s the ideal.”

  “But?”

  “But it’s gonna take time. Erica’s divorce has to be finalized, and now that Ron’s flown the coop, who knows how long that will take to sort out. We don’t want to wait.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “As for you two, we want to do the right thing, but we’re not sure what that is. We’re afraid we’re going to make your relationship with Tessa a whole lot harder.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Thomas, living with
someone, it’s just completely different. It’s stressful. It will put a lot of pressure on you two.”

  “We can handle it,” I say, wondering if we can.

  “I hope so, I truly do, because I think you’re great together. But beyond that, we’re not even sure how to work out the logistics. We’ve decided you will have separate bedrooms, but you and I both know this isn’t something we can enforce. If you sneak into Tessa’s room, I’m not going in there to drag you out. I can’t forbid you to have sex.”

  “We’re not having sex,” I say. Yet. But Dad ignores me.

  “Now that you’re making money, I even thought…I don’t know if I should even mention this.”

  “Mention what?”

  “Are you still planning on marrying Tessa?”

  I squint my eyes at him, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yes.”

  “And she wants to marry you, too? You’ve talked about it?”

  I squint harder. “Yes.”

  “Well…maybe there’s no reason you have to wait.”

  My jaw hits the floor.

  Did Dad just suggest that Tessa and I get married?

  The coffee pot beeps, and Dad stands and pours us both a cup. He hands one to me.

  “Think about it,” he says. And he walks back to his bedroom.

  ***

  Holy frickin’ Mary mother of all that is freaking holy.

  What the hell has gotten into my dad?

  No sane parent would suggest this. No sane parent would allow it. And to actually encourage it?

  “Mrs. Tessa Van Zandt,” I say out loud, testing the words on my tongue.

  They sound ridiculous, and they sound perfectly right.

  But we’re sixteen. Tessa isn’t even halfway through her junior year of high school. I don’t even have my diploma (which reminds me – I need to sign up for my GED before I’m labeled a high school dropout). We have no home, no tried-and-true source of steady income.

  Why would my father suggest this?

  I need to really think about that, because he always has an agenda.

  One, it’s possible he doesn’t want me to sin by sleeping with Tessa before we’re married.

  But he thought we were already sleeping together, and he doesn’t even like God, so I doubt he cares whether or not I sin.

  Two, he wants a good excuse as to why he allowed his son’s girlfriend to move in with us.

  Maybe. But he doesn’t really care what people think.

  Three, maybe that was Erica’s condition for moving in with us. She would be much more concerned about “how things look” and Tessa’s sinning than Dad would. But I highly doubt she’d want us to get married now, while we’re still teenagers.

  I’ll just ask Erica myself.

  Four…what could four be?

  I am an experiment. Therefore it stands to reason that this is another element of that experiment. So there’s something Dad’s testing, or some outcome he wants. What is the outcome of marriage?

  A baby.

  But no, I mean, Tessa’s in high school! Dad wouldn’t set her up to be a teen mom, would he? This very thing was done to him, he was forced to produce a child, and he’s always told me how much of a violation it was. He wouldn’t do that to someone else, let alone his son…would he?

  I don’t know. I don’t know what goes on in his head.

  But whatever it is he wants, I vow with the last beat of my heart not to give it to him.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  I develop an annoying headache as I make my way to Olivia’s house with Kenneth. Nothing’s wrong with me, as far as I can tell, so it must be stress-induced. I dilate the veins in my forehead and will the headache away.

  I get several texts as I drive, but I ignore them. I can’t text back while I’m driving anyway. Kenneth asks me if I want him to check my phone, but I tell him it can wait.

  As I pull into a parking space, Rachel rushes out the front door and over to my car.

  “Thomas!” she yells, pulling open my door. “It’s Olivia. She’s in trouble.”

  We rush to the house. “What’s going on?” I ask as I run.

  “Her heart rate’s been slowing over the last few hours. She,” and Rachel stops talking to catch her breath as we run up the stairs. “She’s gonna crash. Her blood pressure is insanely low.”

  We hit the landing and rush down the hall to Olivia’s room.

  Dr. Park is leaning over her, Cyrus pacing by the window.

  “What’s up?” I ask Dr. Park, taking position on the opposite side of the bed.

  His face goes from frown to scowl when he sees me, but he answers. “Her blood pressure is dangerously low. And her pupils have stopped dilating. This would indicate—”

  “Pressure in the brain,” I say, taking my knife out of my pocket. I cut my palm open, slash open Olivia’s palm, and smoosh our hands together.

  “What are you doing?” Dr. Park bellows. “That’s not sterile! You need—”

  “Shut up for a minute,” I say. I’m already making my nerve connections, producing Protein T, and racing up to Olivia’s brain. “If you’d been here yesterday, you’d know how this works.”

  “You can’t—”

  “He can, Henry, and he is. Shut up and leave the man alone,” Cyrus says before moving around the corner to the sitting room.

  Dr. Park shoots daggers at me, but I ignore him.

  I find the problem immediately.

  Since I opened up the PICA, blood is moving normally into Olivia’s brain from the rest of her body. But since the rest of her brain is full of damaged arteries, they can’t handle the flow. Blood is backing up into her brainstem, and it’s starting to undo some of the work I did yesterday.

  I want to dive in and work, but I force myself to pause.

  “Rachel?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “She’s not here,” Dr. Park says.

  Then Rachel bursts into the room. “I’ve got it,” she says, and I glance at her, and she’s holding my backpack. I smile. “Thought you might need it.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “A bottle of Gatorade and one pill, please.”

  She hands me the items, and I down the pill and swig the whole bottle of Dwellerade.

  “You’re taking drugs?” Dr. Park shrieks.

  “It’s a vitamin, Henry,” I say. “Chill out.”

  And I set to work.

  ***

  We get to the Planarian Institute around four in the afternoon, and I’m beat. Physically I feel fine—the pills did their job—but mentally I feel like I’ve been running uphill for hours.

  “Hey,” Kate says to us. She gives Kenneth a peck on the cheek. “How’d it go?”

  “Fantastic,” Kenneth says.

  “I healed all the arteries and veins in her head,” I say. “The blood’s a-flowin’.”

  “What have you been up to?” Kenneth asks.

  Kate pulls out a stool and props her butt on it. “I’ve been brainstorming ways to keep you awake.”

  “Well, something’s working,” I say. “I’ve only slept three or four hours since I healed Olivia yesterday.”

  “That’s not a good thing,” Kate says. “You have to sleep, Thomas.”

  “Did the pills keep you up?” Kenneth asks.

  “No, I just couldn’t sleep. And I didn’t take any pills yesterday. Only today.”

  “It can’t be the Dwellerade,” he says. “There aren’t any stimulants in it.”

  “Maybe I’m just getting better at this,” I say.

  “Maybe,” Kenneth says. “Or maybe you’re gonna sleep another thirty hours.”

  “How long did you heal today?” Kate asks.

  “About five hours, give or take.”

  “Any weight loss?”

  “Nope. The pills and the Dwellerade worked. I’m the same today as I was yesterday.”

  Kate and Kenneth exchange a glance.

  “We should have had you come in this morning and run tests. We real
ly should have your baseline every time you heal.”

  “You have my records from yesterday. I know what my baseline is, and I know that it’s the same as yesterday,” I say.

  “Humor us,” she says. “We’re scientists. We have to test.”

  I smile. “Fine. Let’s run the stuff now, and I’ll make sure I come in before I heal.”

  “Debrief first,” Kate says. “I wouldn’t want you to forget anything.”

  I laugh at that.

  I go over my session with Olivia, and then we take my weight, my temperature, my blood pressure, and everything else they deem important.

  My stomach growls loudly as they finish inputting data into their laptops.

  “That’s your signal,” Kate says, patting my back. “Off to dinner with you. Be here bright and early before you go back to see Olivia. We’re gonna do this all over again.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” I say with a salute.

  “Unless, of course, you’re asleep.”

  I sigh. “That’s a distinct possibility.”

  ***

  I get home to an empty house and raid the fridge. Last night’s frozen lasagna doesn’t stand a chance.

  I text Tessa, but I know she has an English project she’s doing with a couple of friends. I wish her good night and tell her I’ll see her after work tomorrow.

  I am sleepy, but I also feel like I have the strength to fight it. I’ve never felt that before. Usually when I’m tired, my body just shuts down. That’s it. End of story.

  But tonight, I can fight it.

  I lie down on my bed and prop my hands beneath my head. I’ll just lie here awake as long I can.

  I study the ceiling. It’s covered in plaster, over fifty years old now, cracking in several places. The largest crack makes the ceiling look like it’s grinning at me.

  It gives me an idea for a sculpture.

  I get up and grab a chunk of clay from my studio in the garage. I bring it back to bed with me, prop my head on some pillows, and mold while I think.

  I have averted the biggest disaster in my life—Tessa going. I sigh in relief just thinking about it. But the consequence of Tessa not going is that Tessa is now coming. Here. To live with us.

  We’ll have to share a bathroom. We have a third bathroom off the kitchen, but it doesn’t have a shower or tub. So we’ll both be showering in my bathroom. Sharing the same intimate space.