by Andrea Ring
Four hours later, the nerve is supposedly in my body (though I can’t feel it), but he still hasn’t managed to hook it up to one of mine. And Dacey cannot figure out how to break down the nerve tissue to separate us. He’s shaking and sweating so badly that Dr. Trent has to inject an anesthetic directly into his hand and cut the nerve with sterile scissors.
Fail, as Tessa was once fond of saying.
But I go to bed not entirely disappointed because I have hope. I have Tyrion and his experiments at the Morula Center.
There’s still hope.
Chapter Twenty
The Morula Center is large and eerie, completely the opposite of my friendly Planarian Institute. It occupies a campus of twelve buildings, all four stories tall, each home to a different area of research.
Tyrion told me to meet him at Building 10, and I have to pull hard on the glass door to open it. A guard, watching a movie on a tablet, is stationed at the front desk, Tyrion sitting beside him. They both glance at me when I enter, but the guard’s eyes move quickly back to his movie.
“Punctual as always,” Tyrion says, rising to greet me. He rounds the desk and claps me on the back. “Are you ready?”
“More than,” I say.
We take the elevator to the second floor and wander the maze of hallways. It reminds me of the Attic—the sterility, the impersonal air, the precision. But the Attic is basically one long hallway with rooms off either side, and the security there is insane. Here, once past the guard, you’re able to roam free, but dissecting the Morula Center’s layout would be a challenge even for a Dweller with perfect recall.
We pause at an unmarked door, and as Tyrion reaches for the door lever, I mumble into his neck, “Do I need to whisper?”
He startles then laughs. “No. Let us not yell at one another, but no. We are alone.”
We enter a standard surgical space.
“Lie down there,” he says, pointing at the table, “and let me get things in order. Just remove your jacket.”
I slip off my hoodie so that my arms are bare and lie down.
“One day you’re going to have to explain to me how you did this,” I say.
“One day,” he says.
“And you still haven’t told me about your dates with Jack. I talked to her after your second date, but she hasn’t returned my calls since. Care to share?”
Tyrion closes the fridge, from which he removed a bag of blood. He hooks it to the top of an IV stand and begins preparing my needle.
“Jack is lovely,” he says, his face softening. “We had a wonderful evening at her apartment.”
I smile. “Yeah? And you went out again?”
He wheels a machine in place to my right. “We have been out every night since, except for last night. Jack had to go out of town.”
“Why didn’t she call me?” I ask. “I’ve left her like ten messages.”
“She has a job opportunity,” he says. “It is keeping her quite busy.” He inserts a needle and tube into the vein on the top of my right hand, and hooks it up to the machine. The machine begins to hum. “This will start to take the current blood out of your body, but do not worry. We are putting it back as soon as it comes out.” He hooks my left hand up to the IV stand of blood, grabs a rolling stool from the corner of the room, and sits down on it. “Now we wait.”
“How long should it take?” I ask.
“About five hours, give or take. I have calculated that you have eleven pints of blood in your system based on your weight of 174 pounds and your height of six feet one inch, but I have created fifteen just in case.”
“Five hours,” I say. “I should have brought a book. Tell me more about Jack’s job.”
“It is an odd one,” he says. “You know that serial killer case up north, near San Francisco?” I nod. “They have several persons of interest but no concrete evidence. They need help with narrowing down the suspects. An old friend of Jack’s suggested they bring her in.”
“What can Jack do?” I ask. “She can see souls and death, but I thought that was it.”
“You know how she sees the souls’ aura and each is colored? Jack has learned what these colors indicate about character through her personal experience. She is hoping she can detect someone who is evil.”
I shudder. “That’s creepy. How’s it going so far? Has she looked at anyone yet?”
“We spoke this evening. She has looked at a few people and none seem to have the taint of evil. She will be looking at the rest tomorrow.”
“Wow,” I say. “That takes some balls. I mean, she’s going to be in the same room with a killer.”
Tyrion frowns. “Indeed.”
“So, you seem better,” I say. “No more possession. Have you, you know, with Jack?”
Tyrion grins. “Do I seem like the sort to kiss and tell?”
I laugh. “Well, you are pretty frank with me.”
He shakes his head. “Frank, yes. But Jack has taught me that what I thought was honesty was also rather indiscreet. But since we are in the same position, I will tell you: we have not done anything untoward, and that is the way it will remain.”
“Really?”
Tyrion nods. “I have gradually been able to better control my emotions. You were entirely correct. I was just a, what is the word? Newbie.”
I smile.
“And you have been an example for me, the way you treat Tessa with respect, and the way you have held your body sacred for the sacrament of marriage. I have decided to follow your example.”
“Really?” I say again.
He smiles. “Yes, really.”
A wave of sleepiness washes over me, and I close my eyes. “So do you really like my sister?” I ask.
“I love your sister,” he says, and my eyes fly open.
“Really?”
Tyrion chuckles. “Really.” He crosses the room to a bank of cabinets and withdraws a blanket. He spreads it over me. “Sleep. This process is more tiring than you realize. The equipment will text me when the blood needs to be changed, so I may drift in and out to attend work in my office. Is that acceptable to you?”
“Of course,” I mumble.
He pats my shoulder. “Sleep. It will be over before you know it.”
***
I wake, and Tyrion is gone. I am no longer hooked up to anything, and both my hands have been bandaged.
I stand and test my balance. I feel okay, no dizziness or vertigo. I’m still a little groggy, but I think that’s from my nap and not the transfusion.
I take my phone out of my hoodie pocket and check the time: three AM. Damn, it’s late. Or early.
The phone buzzes in my hand. It’s Jack.
“Hey, thanks for keeping in touch, I mean really, a call back this fast? To what do I owe the honor?”
Jack sighs loudly. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I thought I’d just leave you a voicemail.”
“I’m pulling a late night at the lab,” I say. “Though I kind of wish you did wake me up so I could yell at you.”
“I’m sorry, okay? It’s been a really long week.” She sounds awful.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I just…have you talked to Tyrion?”
“He told me where you are, if that’s what you mean,” I say. “That can’t be fun, hunting down a serial killer.”
“Honestly, I thought it’d be some easy money, and I’d be helping people. But half the police department thinks I’m a kook, the other half can’t stop staring at my chest, and I haven’t found the guy. I’ve made a total of one friend, and he was originally a suspect.”
“Be careful, Jack,” I say. “A suspect doesn’t sound like a good person to befriend.”
“No, he’s been great,” Jack says. “He’s a counselor for troubled kids, involved in the local church…he just knew two of the victims. Totally circumstantial.”
“And his aura checks out?” I ask.
“Crystal clear. The weird thing is his aura is similar to Dad’s—
opposite, actually. Mostly purple intertwined with bright gold. He says he doesn’t have lot of time for friends since he spends every waking moment at the youth center or church. But anyway, I didn’t call about him. I just wanted to check in with you, and now that we’re talking, tell me something good. I could use it.”
“Then I’ve got something for you,” I say. “Tessa and I are engaged.”
“No!” she screams. “Really? Oh, Thomas, I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really, I couldn’t be more…that’s just great.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I say, grinning.
“Yes. I can’t wait to get back now. Do you think Tessa will let me help plan things?”
“I think she’s counting on it. Do what you need to do and come back to us. Tyrion misses you, I think.”
“Does he?”
“Yes. And so do I.”
Jack sighs, but it’s a contented sigh. “Thanks. Okay, I think you gave me enough juice to keep going.”
“Hang in there, and keep in touch. Please.”
Jack laughs. “I will.” We click off.
I shoot Tyrion a quick text and sit on the rolling stool to wait.
***
I get nothing. At 4:11, I send Tyrion another text, then another at 4:19, and another at 4:24. I don’t know how early people come to work here, but I don’t want to be here when they start trickling in.
At 4:30, I decide to hunt for Tyrion.
***
I reason that Tyrion can’t be too far away. He must have picked a surgical room close to his office.
I try the first door to my right. Another surgical space.
The door across the hall leads to a break room.
A conference room, supply cabinet, refrigerated cooler, more surgical rooms…
I finally come to an office. A quick check at the desk reveals that it does not belong to Tyrion.
Room after room after room, beige walls, beige carpet, beige vinyl tile, more beige, sweet Jesus, if I can just find the elevator, I’ll leave this God-forsaken beige place.
I round a corner to find a dead end. Ahead of me are double doors clearly marked, “Authorized Personnel Only.”
I debate. I think I’m at a corner of the building, and if that’s the case, there’s most likely a stairwell beyond the double doors. On the other hand, I’m clearly not “Authorized Personnel,” but as Tyrion said, there’s no one else here. Maybe I can make a quick check for the stairs, and if I don’t find them, I’ll backtrack.
I almost hope for an alarm or some kind of warning when I go through the doors so that Tyrion or the guard will come rescue me. But I enter and all is silent.
Not all. Faintly, very faintly, I hear a baby whimper.
My adrenaline kicks in. I actually feel it. I feel the adrenal glands spurt, I detect the increase in my heart rate, and exhilaration bursts through me. I feel inside myself, and yes! Yes, yes, yes! I’m back, baby! God bless the Almighty Tyrion!
I try the first door I come to and it’s a closet. Stairs, stairs, who’s got the stairs? I cannot wait to get home to Tessa!
And as I’m opening my second door (an office), I hear a baby whimper.
In my joy, I forgot about the first one.
I stop and cock my head, expand my tensor tympani muscles, and listen hard.
I hear babies, multiple, many, not just one. And if there are babies here, there must be adults taking care of them.
I tiptoe down the hallway. Ahead and to my left, I see a bank of windows overlooking a garage-sized room. I crouch down and crawl my way underneath them. Slowly, I lift my head.
There must be twenty babies, each in its own incubator. IVs are hooked up to their heels, each has a feeding tube, their legs are strapped to the incubators so that they can’t pull the IVs out, and tubes of blood run from each baby up to a central line that disappears into the ceiling.
I slowly climb to my feet and put my palms flat to the glass. I focus on the baby nearest me, a thin, chicken-legged little thing, translucent eyelids closed, its fists clenched in sleeping protest. It has a tattoo—XLD495—on the bottom of its right foot.
I gag, I can’t help it.
I dry heave, my chest hitches, and my stomach spasms. My mouth fills with saliva and beads of sweat pop out on my forehead. I fall to my knees and struggle to suppress the impending vomiting.
I take a couple of shallow breaths, and then a deep one. Better. I don’t want to look again, but I have to, so I climb to my feet and press my forehead to the window.
About thirty feet away at the back of the room, I spot an adult covered in scrubs and a surgical mask. My face falls when I recognize the jet black hair peeking out from under his head covering.
Tyrion.
He’s bent over one of the babies, his back to me, and I cannot tell what he’s doing.
But I want to know. I need to know.
I slowly move along the window until I can get a side view of him. He’s simply adjusting the leg straps of the child. When he’s done, he bends over and bestows the baby’s forehead with a kiss. He straightens.
Then he turns, as though sensing he’s being watched. We make eye contact.
“Thomas,” he whispers.
I glare at him. He points to a door at the far end of the window.
I slowly walk to the door, wrench it open, and step inside.
The room smells like death.
“Thomas,” he says again, making his way toward me. He stops a few feet away and pulls off his mask. “Let me explain.”
“Is this how you cured me?” I hiss.
He nods. “It is for the greater good.”
“The greater good?” I sputter. “This is illegal and immoral and wrong on so many levels…you’re torturing helpless babies, Tyrion!”
“It is not like that,” he says calmly. “They are well cared for and loved. They feel no pain. I have done my best to see that this is true.”
“So you doped them up so they don’t feel pain,” I say. “Great. Let’s give you a medal. Tyrion, the first torturer in history to use painkillers!”
A hint of impatience slips through his calm facade. “I did not initiate this path of experimentation, if that is your assumption. I discovered that my lab partner had a created a baby in a dish and was harvesting its stem cells. I thought about blowing the whistle, but I am not normal myself. I was grown in a lab. Imagine the questions, the investigations. Imagine the authorities swooping down on the Attic.”
“Of course,” I say. “This was a selfless act. You just wanted to protect everyone at the Attic. Shovel your bullshit somewhere else, Tyrion! This is wrong. It goes against everything we believe, everything we’re trying to do as medical researchers. If you don’t see that…you need to be stopped.”
“I want this to stop,” Tyrion agrees. “But I will not pretend that I think the venture entirely unworthy. I have made use of it and have managed to heal you in the process, in case you have forgotten. You do have your abilities back, do you not?”
“That’s not the point!” I shout. “This ends now. I’m going straight to my dad. I suggest you call your boss and quit right now, ‘cause the shit’s about to hit the fan here.”
“I cannot leave,” he says. “I have an obligation to these babies. I am the only one here until eight o’clock.”
“Good luck to you, then,” I say. “You’re gonna need it.”
I turn towards the door and I run.
Chapter Twenty-One
Think, think, think, Thomas, think!
What the hell am I supposed to do?
This is horrific, barbaric, absolutely unacceptable in every possible sense. I have to get to my dad right now.
I don’t even realize I’ve hit the lobby. The stairwell door slams shut behind me and I jump. The guard looks up. I give him a wave, force myself to measure my steps carefully, and make it out the front door.
I have a twenty-minute drive back to the Attic, so as so
on as I pull out of the parking lot, I call the person who, next to Tessa, I trust most in the world: Dr. Rumson.
But I’ve forgotten that it’s barely six o’clock.
“Thomas?” he answers, his voice rusty. “Is something wrong?”
“Very,” I say. “I’m sorry to wake you up, sir, but this is urgent.”
“I’m up,” he says, and I hear his bed creak. “Tell me.”
“I…I already know the answer, but I just want to hear your take on it…but truly, I know the answer.”
“Go on.”
“Okay. Is it right to kill twenty to save millions?”
“Have these twenty consented to sacrificing themselves?” he asks.
“No.”
“Is there another way to save the millions?”
“Probably,” I say. “Eventually. Some will die, but someday, some will live.”
I imagine Dr. Rumson narrowing his eyes at me. “Are you suggesting experiments on human beings without their consent?”
“I’m not suggesting it, in fact, I just discovered it, and I’m against it completely. They’re babies, Dr. Rumson. Babies. They grew them in the lab.” My eyes tear suddenly and I have to blink hard to keep the tears from spilling over.
“Oh, Thomas,” he says. “Not at the Attic? Not your dad?”
“Of course not,” I say. “At the Morula Center, where Tyrion’s been working.”
Dr. Rumson gasps. “Tyrion is involved with this?”
“Intimately.”
“I would not have thought…though maybe it does make sense.”
“How does this make sense?” I yell.
“Not the experimentation,” he says, “but Tyrion’s involvement. He’s underdeveloped in many ways. He’s…enough about him. The babies come first. Go directly to your dad. This must be stopped.”
“That’s where I’m headed.”
“Good. Keep in touch.” I don’t reply, and Dr. Rumson sighs. “There’s more?”
“Well…the reason I find out about this…I screwed up my DNA during an experiment, and Tyrion said he could fix it and nothing else was working, so I went…and he did it. He fixed me. He must have used the stem cells from those babies.”
