by Andrea Ring
I reach a hand out to the front of the desk, grab the top-drawer knob, and pull the drawer out a bit. With my other hand, I feel along the back of the drawer.
And there it is, secured with a bit of tape. A key.
I peel it off and crawl back out.
I put the key in the lock of the left-hand drawer and turn. It clicks open.
I pull out the drawer and start thumbing through files.
School Reg
Vaccinations
Birth Cert
Physicals
Report Cards
This entire drawer is full of me.
I pull out the file labeled Physicals. Inside are Mom’s notes on my height, weight, and head circumference for the first six years of my life. There’s also a report from Dr. Morley, the pediatrician I went to when I was younger. I glance at the papers and replace the file. Maybe someday this stuff will interest me, but not now.
I unlock the right-hand drawer.
Insurance
Mortgage
The Heart
Car
I grab the file labeled Insurance. It contains annual statements on a life insurance policy on Dad, bequeathed to me, in the sum of $5,000,000.
Yowza.
The rest of the files are uninteresting, the standard day-to-day crap of life. I’m about to push the drawer closed when I notice it, a file with no label, stuck in the middle. I carefully extract it from the drawer and lay it on my lap. I open it up and read the first page.
Date: August 12, 2006
Time: 16:35
Subject assessment: Cells are exact copies. No breakdown. Systems normal. No change.
Computer-aided assessment: Slight bending to the nucleus, less than 0.001 degree (resolution = 0.001 degree, uncertainty = +/- 0.003 degree). Cells are not exact copies.
Date: August 19, 2006
Time: 16:42
Subject assessment: Cells are exact copies. No breakdown. Systems normal. No change.
Computer-aided assessment: Slight bending to the nucleus, less than 0.001 degree (resolution = 0.001 degree, uncertainty = +/- 0.003 degree). Cells are not exact copies.
Date: August 26, 2006
Time: 16:31
Subject assessment: Cells are exact copies. No breakdown. Systems normal. No change.
Computer-aided assessment: Slight bending to the nucleus, approximately 0.001 degree (resolution = 0.001 degree, uncertainty = +/- 0.003 degree). Cells are not exact copies.
Date: September 2, 2006
Time: 16:32
Subject assessment: Cells are exact copies. No breakdown. Systems normal. No change.
Computer-aided assessment: Slight bending to the nucleus, approximately 0.002 degree (resolution = 0.001 degree, uncertainty = +/- 0.003 degree). Cells are not exact copies.
The same description goes on for eleven pages, subject not detecting any change, while the computer detects increasing changes in the bend (shape?) of the nucleus. The last piece of paper is a hand-scribbled note on a sheet of neon yellow legal paper.
Date: February 9, 2007
Time: 04:03
Conclusions: We are not infallible as we once thought. Some changes in our bodies are too small to detect. I say “our,” but who knows? Maybe I’m the only one with this issue??? But I have greater control and practice than most—I would venture to say my estimates are at the high end of what we can do. Except for T and J. Add this to their list.
Stem cells are the answer, but our own exhibit the nucleus bend. Starting at what age??? T’s stems do not exhibit this bend as found, but after repeated use, they bend. Bend comes from repeated use AND age.
Genetic engineering is the answer, but how far to go? Results of Experiment A326311 scared the crap out of me. Too many unknowns. I know it can be done, but when my left eye turned blue…you’d think after all these years, all the experiments, the physical changes, I’d be immune to the shock. But the blue eye, it caught me unaware. The same way those tumors did. People’s lives are in my hands. I cannot afford such carelessness.
Thomas, tread carefully. Your instincts are correct—I know you know what I’m talking about. But experimenting with live people…how many must die so others can live? Do we put people at risk, even if they agree to that risk? Is it really worth it? We always think we’re doing the right thing if we have good intentions. But remember what they say about those.
I’m discontinuing these experiments. I’m dedicating my time and energy to medical breakthroughs that can be applied universally to heal the ill. I will not play God, and I urge you not to, either. Every life is precious, Thomas. Every life.
I stare at the paper and realize my hands are shaking violently. I replace the papers and the files, close and lock the drawers, and tape the key back in place. I’m not even too careful about it, and I can’t be with my shaking hands anyway. Dad meant for me to find the papers eventually.
I lie down and stare at the ceiling cracks.
Maybe it isn’t okay to experiment on people, even with risks consented to, even if the rewards are great. I can accept that.
But if I’m experimenting on myself? Do we have a moral obligation to preserve on our own life?
I don’t.
Genetic engineering. On myself. That’s the next step.
I laugh out loud. Maybe I’ll be a monkey-man. A cheetah-man. Half man, half Wookie.
Dad’s eye turned blue! I try to picture that, Dad bleary-eyed and stumbling to the toilet early one morning, and when he looks up, into the mirror, he sees…holy crap! A blue eye!
But I can’t picture my father being startled—truly scared—by anything.
I try to picture myself looking in the mirror, expecting to see the same old me. I lean in close to exam a zit forming on my forehead, but wait, what’s this? My eye is blue!
Maybe I need to think this through.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I missed Tessa’s swim meet last night, and I want to kick myself. I ended up falling asleep under the taunting grin of the ceiling right after I got home from work, and I’d left my phone in the kitchen, where Tessa’s text reminders failed to wake me.
I’m such a jerk.
I drive to McDonald’s and buy her favorite bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit and hash browns. She answers the door in her robe and takes the McDonald’s bag with a grin.
“You’re forgiven,” she says, kissing my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I fell asleep. How’d it go?”
“Third in the relay but first in the butterfly,” she says.
I hug her, smooshing the bag between us. “That’s awesome. I knew you could do it.”
We sit side-by-side at the kitchen island. Tessa unwraps her biscuit and carefully peels it in half. “Eat,” she says.
“I ate in the car,” I say. “It’s for you.”
She takes a big bite, chews, and swallows. “So what’s going on?”
“Not too much,” I say. I want to talk to her about Dad, but I don’t want to upset her, and I need to find out what Erica knows about the situation. I don’t want to be the one to out Dad to Erica. “If Cyrus is around, I’ll probably go over and work on Olivia.”
“Cyrus?” Erica says, entering the kitchen.
I freeze.
Tessa waves a hand. “Miley,” she says. “Miley Cyrus. She has a dog named Olivia. Hip trouble. Thomas is going to fix it.”
“You’re a horrible liar,” Erica says, heading for the coffee pot. “Spill it, Thomas.”
Tessa looks at me. I look back. She kicks me under the counter.
“He contacted me,” I say. “He has a…dog that’s sick.”
Erica leans forward on the island, blowing on her coffee to cool it. “You’re a shitty liar, too,” she says, taking a careful sip.
“Are you angry?” I ask her.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Should I be?”
The guilt gnaws at my stomach. “I agreed to heal his daughter in ex
change for buying your house.”
Erica stares at me. “Is it dangerous?”
“Of course not!” Tessa exclaims a little too loudly, and Erica gives her a Shut up! stare.
“Is it?” Erica repeats.
“Yes,” I say.
Erica’s eyes grow wet while I watch. “Thank you,” she says. “I…need to take a shower.”
And she walks out.
“I’m sorry, Tessa,” I say.
“You could have tried a bit harder with the Miley stuff,” she says, staring at her biscuit. “Did you have to crumble so fast?”
“You wanted me to lie to your mother, in earnest?”
Tessa raises her nose in the air. “Never, m’lord,” she says in a snotty voice. “I would not dream of asking you to debase yourself in such a manner. God forbid you put someone else’s feelings above your own.”
I leap to my feet. “How can you say that? I did this for you guys. I’m putting my life on the line, for you.”
“Allow me to kiss your feet, m’lord,” she says, slipping off the stool and going down on her knees.
“Get up, for Christ’s sake,” I say, pulling on her arm. “Why are you doing this?”
Tessa gets to her feet. “You hurt her. You hurt her pride. You made her feel like nothing. I mean, a house in exchange for your life? She has to live with that.”
I gape at Tessa. “I did not hurt her. I would never do that. How did my telling the truth do that?”
“If you don’t already know, I can’t explain it to you,” she says. “Go home, Thomas.”
And Tessa leaves me standing in the kitchen.
***
I stomp out to my car.
I don’t get it, I absolutely freaking refuse to get it! How did I become the bad guy in this situation?
Grandma’s words echo in my head: Just because you can, Thomas, doesn’t mean you should.
I growl and thump a fist on the steering wheel.
If I can’t heal when someone’s sick, when can I?
If I can’t tell the truth when asked a direct question, when can I?
If I can’t save someone’s home when they’re in dire financial straits, when can I?
Screw all these people. Screw Dad, and screw Erica, and screw Tessa, and screw Cyrus for putting me in this shitty situation, and screw everyone who’s ever told me I made the wrong choice. They can all fend for themselves. They can all go to hell.
I feel like I’m about to explode, like every cell in my body is bursting, ready to multiply. I feel like I’m about to fly apart.
I head for Olivia’s house.
I can feel neurons growing, attaching, lengthening in my brain as I drive. Pain throbs in every part of my head, like ice picks jabbing at me. At a stoplight, I pull the visor down and flip up the mirror. Veins bulge menacingly at my temples.
I grimace. Then I scream. I grow my incisors until I look like Dracula. Freakin’ A, the look matches my mood.
I dissolve the extra bits of teeth I’ve grown and flick the pieces out of my mouth with my tongue as I lean out the window.
I pull into the Brooks driveway and park. I sit shivering for a few minutes. I finally collect myself enough to do an assessment: blood pressure elevated, adrenaline on high, heart rate increased almost to a dangerous level. Neurons have grown, most in an effort to process emotions faster (as if I needed any help with that). And Protein T, I have like a gallon floating around.
I could get rid of the Protein T, probably should get rid of it. I really should start healing with all systems at normal, with zero extra protein.
But I’ll just have to manufacture more when I get hooked up to Olivia. No sense in getting rid of it.
I exit the car and my head feels like lead, like it weighs a ton. I have to stabilize it on my neck. I really should use the protein now.
But I don’t.
I lope up the steps of the house and ring the doorbell.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Cyrus answers the door in maroon silk paisley pajamas.
“Thomas!” he says, opening the door wider to accommodate me. “Did I miss a message?”
“No, sir,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “My plans changed at the last minute, and I thought I’d stop by and see if I could work today.”
“Of course, of course,” he says, leading me to the velvet sofas. “Just have a seat. Let me talk to Rachel and have her clean Olivia up.”
I sit while he disappears up the stairs. One thing I have to give Cyrus credit for: he’s always happy to see me.
I go inside my brain and once again ensure I have the proteins inactive and corralled. They are.
Then the front door opens and closes and Dr. Park walks in.
“Good morning,” he says. “How are you, Thomas?”
“Fine. You?”
“Well,” he says. “I’m well. Does Cyrus know you’re here?”
“He went up to get Olivia ready. They weren’t expecting me.”
“I wondered if you would show up this weekend. Having a patient so close…it must have been difficult to stay away.”
“I am anxious to see Olivia wake up,” I say, neither confirming nor denying his belief.
He nods. “Will it be today, you think?”
I fight not to shrug. “All I have left is the RAS in the brain, but I want to spend some time on her muscles first. Her neck muscles haven’t been used in months. Jaw, too, arms and legs. Might as well give her some strength to speed her recovery.”
Dr. Park shakes his head. “Remarkable. You’re making us re-think our entire protocol. Physical therapy usually comes way after all the other stuff.”
“I have to admit, I’m feeling my way on this,” I tell him.
“What about the stomach?” he says suddenly. “Her entire gastrointestinal system. We’ll have to take the feeding tube out. Could you ready her system for solid food?”
I think about what that would entail. “I don’t see why not.”
I already know how the gastrointestinal system works, but Dr. Park spends fifteen minutes explaining its intricacies. He wants to contribute, and since I’m waiting anyway, I let him.
“I’ll try that,” I finally say. “I think the only thing we haven’t taken into account is Olivia’s emotional state. Dr. Kate is particularly worried about this. She thinks Olivia’s going to be shocked, scared, maybe even depressed. We should be ready for the possibility that she won’t take in enough calories and nutrients by eating on her own. What if she refuses food?” I don’t actually know if any of this will happen, but Kate’s been adamant that emotional trauma is likely.
She’d kill me if she knew I were here, doing this now, without her or Kenneth.
“Mmmm,” Dr. Park says, tapping a finger against his lips. “Yes. A possibility.”
“One you’re set up for, I assume,” I say.
“Cyrus is set up for a zombie apocalypse, nuclear fallout, and typhoid outbreak simultaneously,” he says, chuckling.
“Do you, uh, need to go up?” I say, praying the answer is yes.
Dr. Park waves a hand. “If they’re changing her, I’ll leave them to it. We can go up together.”
I nod, resigned, and continue to listen to Dr. Park remind me that I should really check Olivia’s teeth for cavities before we (We! As if!) wake her.
***
“Hello, Thomas,” Rachel says as I enter the room ahead of Dr. Park. She gives me a blinding smile, and begrudgingly nods her head at the doctor.
“Hey,” I say. “How’s Olivia?”
Rachel furrows her brow. “Restless. She hasn’t really settled down all night—she twitches and jumps. I haven’t given her a sedative yet. I thought Dr. Park, and now you, would want to take a look.”
Dr. Park steps up to the bed and grabs Olivia’s wrist. He takes her pulse even though she’s hooked up to a heart monitor and all of us can read her heart rate from across the room.
Olivia’s legs dance beneath the sheets in small jerky
movements. Her eyes roll restlessly beneath her lids.
It’s hard to watch. It’s as if Olivia’s soul is trapped and trying to escape her body.
“This is, of course, the body’s normal response to healing,” Dr. Park says imperiously. “The nerve signals are firing, but they’re rusty from disuse or so new they’re still figuring things out. Nothing to worry about.”
“Should I sedate her?” Rachel asks.
They discuss Olivia’s medication, and Rachel injects some into Olivia’s IV.
Cyrus squeaks from behind me, and we all turn to him. “Is it today, then?”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know, Cyrus. I’ve never healed anyone in Olivia’s condition before. We don’t know exactly what to expect.”
He nods.
“I suggest you get out of the house. No sense sitting here waiting for the moment that might not come today. Go out to the pasture for a ride.”
“You want him to drive his car across the property?” Rachel asks.
“No, I was thinking of the horses. It might help you feel closer to Olivia.”
Rachel opens her mouth to speak, but Cyrus cuts her off. “Yes, of course. I…I’ll go down to the church. Work on my sermon. You’ll call me then, if anything happens?”
“Immediately,” I say.
He smiles at me and heads out.
“How long until the sedative kicks in?” I ask Dr. Park.
“It should be fairly immediate, but let’s give it ten minutes or so. Let me go over her vitals with Rachel.”
I nod and make my way to the window.
Olivia has a stunning view of the property from a bay window with a bench seat inset. Or she would have a stunning view, if the window allowed it.
The entire window, ten feet by six, is safety glass, criss-crossed with black wire inside. I press my eye up close to one of the diamond shapes the wire makes and study the yard, though calling it a yard is ridiculous—there’s no visible endpoint to the property, no wall or fence, that I can see.
Directly below is a concrete walkway that winds around the house. Beyond is a rose garden, still in bloom even though it’s November, with meandering paths of gravel and a fountain dead center. Beyond that, and to both sides, are lawn, trees, and nature.
