Quicksilver

by R. J. Anderson

  My knees buckled. I clutched the edge of the sink, nausea spiraling in my stomach.

  The police had my DNA.

  I should have seen it coming. When I was missing, they’d needed a way to identify my body, if they ever found it, and to help bring my supposed murderer to justice. And at that point, all the evidence pointed to Alison, the strange and possibly schizophrenic girl I’d been fighting with just before I disappeared. They’d found blood on her hands and bits of tissue stuck in the ring she’d been wearing—of course they’d wanted to know if the blood and tissue were mine.

  “The results were extraordinary,” Dr. Gervais went on rapidly. “None of us have seen anything like your daughter’s gene sequence before, and we can’t account for the discrepancies between her DNA and that of an average young woman. We believe…” She checked herself and continued in a graver tone, “We’re concerned that Tori may have a rare genetic disorder. One that could be harmful, or even fatal, if not treated.”

  Genetic disorder—so that was what they were calling it. Maybe they even thought it was true. Maybe they were sincerely concerned for my well-being and wanted to help me out, even though it wasn’t part of their job.

  Or more likely they’d known for weeks that they were sitting on the biggest scientific discovery of their careers, and now that they’d found out I was alive, they’d say anything, do anything, to get me under their microscope again.

  Well, screw the advancement of science. I’d just escaped from one man who thought he owned me, and it had been the most terrifying experience of my life. I wasn’t about to become anybody else’s lab rat. Not ever.

  “I’m sure you’re mistaken,” I said coldly. “Tori is perfectly normal, and we’ve never had the least concern about her health. Obviously your results were compromised, or tampered with in some way.”

  “That’s a possibility, yes,” said Dr. Gervais, not missing a beat. “And we’re looking into it. But the easiest solution would be to take a scraping of cells from your daughter’s cheek or get a blood sample for comparison purposes. If you’d be willing to cooperate—”

  “No,” I snapped, and slammed down the phone. With trembling fingers I erased the message and added Dr. Gervais’s number to our Blocked Callers list.

  But I knew that wasn’t the end of it. Now that she and the other scientists at GeneSystem had seen how unusual my DNA was, they’d never be satisfied until they knew why. No matter how many times I said no or how hard I tried to avoid them, they’d keep hounding me until I gave in. Or until they got impatient enough to stop asking and start looking for some legal—or not so legal—way to force my hand.

  And then all my dreams of living a free and happy life and becoming a successful engineer one day would be over. Because once Dr. Gervais and her people realized just how extraordinary I was, they’d never let me go.

  As if to prove the point, the phone started ringing again. This time I didn’t wait for the message or even look to see who it was. I ripped the plug out of the wall and ran to find my mother.

  (1.2)

  The worst of it was, there was nothing good about my weird biology. Sure, I didn’t get sick often and when I did, the symptoms were usually mild, but Lara rarely got sick either, so I didn’t put much stock in that. I had a knack for figuring out how machines worked and making them work better, but there were plenty of engineering prodigies in the world. It wasn’t like I’d been gifted with super-hearing or X-ray vision—nothing like Alison and her synesthesia.

  Yet as far as our DNA was concerned, Alison was perfectly normal. I was the freak.

  “We always knew something like this might happen,” Dad told me, as we held our conference around the dining room table. He patted my mother’s shoulder—as usual she’d been calm and decisive while the crisis was fresh, but now that the shock had hit her, she was shaking. “And since Tori doesn’t have that chip in her arm anymore, there’s no reason not to use our emergency backup plan. I’d hoped it’d never come to this, but…” He opened the file folder in front of him and leafed through the stack of notes, letters, and printouts inside. “Maybe it’s time.”

  “There’s no maybe about it,” Mom said thickly through a fistful of tissues and fumbled across the table to grip my hand. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. When they said they needed your hairbrush for the investigation, I should have guessed … but I was so afraid we’d never see you again…”

  “I don’t blame you, Mom,” I said. “You didn’t know, and you couldn’t have done anything else.” Not without obstructing the cause of justice and ending up as a murder suspect, anyway. I turned to my dad. “So what’s the plan?”

  “If the people at GeneSystem can’t find you, they’ll give up,” he said. “They’ll have to. There’s no murder investigation anymore, so they can’t ask the police to help. And they’re supposed to destroy all the DNA evidence, now it’s no longer needed. If they want an exception, they’ll have to fight for it in court, and by the time they get it, we’ll be long gone.”

  “But … where?” Mom asked. “And what are we going to tell everyone? All our friends…”

  This was the problem with being so community-minded, as both my parents were. If there was a charity event to run or a local festival to promote, Gisele and Ron Beaugrand were bound to be involved at some point. They threw a massive house party every New Year’s Eve and an outdoor pig roast every August, with plenty of smaller dinners and cocktail parties in between. Once the news got out that we were selling our house, the shock waves would ripple across the whole city.

  “Tori needs a fresh start,” said my father. “We all do, after everything that’s happened. We’ll tell them we’re moving to Vancouver.”

  Clear across the country, right on the Pacific Ocean. I’d always wanted to see more of the world, but this was so far away I might as well be moving to another planet. I was about to beg him to reconsider when my mother said, “We aren’t, though,” and I realized I’d misunderstood.

  “No,” Dad replied. “There are a few places in southern Ontario that should suit us fine, and we can move faster if we don’t have to go out of the province.” The chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “It’s going to be a big change, I know. But now Tori’s secret is out. I don’t see that we have a choice.”

  I clenched my hands together, fingers latticed tight. Four days ago, I’d despaired of ever seeing my parents or my hometown again. When Alison and Sebastian turned up to help me escape, it had seemed like such a miracle that I’d almost believed my troubles were over. That I could go back to my old life, piece myself back together, and carry on.

  I should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “I’m sorry, pumpkin,” said my dad, sounding tired. “I know it isn’t fair, especially after all you’ve been through. You have a right to be angry. Even if it’s with us.”

  How could I be? All they’d ever wanted was a child to love and raise as their own. Even after Dr. Bowman found the chip in my arm and told them he’d never seen anything like it, they’d refused to give up on me. When it became clear that I had a natural affinity for machines but no instincts whatsoever when it came to people, they’d poured all their energy into teaching me how to relate, how to connect, how to care. My dad had coached me through girls’ hockey until I understood what it meant to be part of a team, and my mom had shown me how to read people’s facial expressions and turn their frowns into smiles. All the awards I’d won, all the popularity I’d gained at school, I owed to them.

  And now they were ready to sacrifice their house, their jobs, and their reputations, just to give me a chance at a normal life. I knew there was no point trying to talk them out of it; like Dad had said, they’d anticipated this all along, and they were ready. But I hated Dr. Gervais for forcing their hand. And I hated whoever had given GeneSystem our name and phone number even more.

  I straightened up in my chair. “I’m okay,” I said firmly. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

&n
bsp; (1.3)

  “You’re kidding me,” said Lara, sweeping her hair back behind her ear. “Vancouver?”

  We were sitting together in the food court at the mall, sharing an order of poutine—our traditional after-shopping indulgence. I’d told her I wasn’t going to come between her and Brendan or say anything more about him, so we were on friendly terms again. My parents and I had just spent a week in the Caribbean, and by the time we got back, the house had sold, so that was a load off my mind as well.

  But while we were gone, Dr. Gervais had called from a different number, confirming that my abnormal DNA results were accurate and urging my parents to bring me in for more testing before it was too late. And that same week our neighbor had seen a pair of neatly dressed strangers, a man and a woman, standing on our front step. She’d thought they were Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses at first, but they’d parked right outside our house and driven away without visiting anyone else on the street.

  I was past feeling wistful about the life I’d lived in this town. Now all I wanted was to get out of here while I still had the chance.

  “I know,” I said to Lara, picking at a stray cheese curd with my plastic fork. The gravy had gone cold, and the two remaining french fries were limp and soggy. “It’s a long way. But after everything that happened and the way people look at me now … I think it’s for the best.”

  Lara reached for the container and scooped up the last bite, making a little face that told me she regretted it. Then she said in a carefully casual tone, “So … what did happen? Or would you rather not talk about it?”

  She’d been my best friend since I was twelve. We’d had a few misunderstandings and the occasional fight, but she knew more about me than anyone except my parents—and a few things even they didn’t know. If I was going to tell anyone the truth about where I’d been, what had been done to me, it should be Lara.

  But I knew how she’d react if I told her. First, she’d be confused. Then she’d laugh nervously because she thought I was joking, and after a while, she’d get upset because it wasn’t funny anymore. And then I’d have to apologize and make up a story she’d find easier to believe, which would be worse than if I’d just lied to her in the first place.

  So I bit my lip with what I hoped was convincing uncertainty, and I said, “I don’t really remember much of anything. And frankly, I don’t want to. After what the doctor said…” I let the sentence trail off, so Lara’s imagination could fill in the rest. In my experience, people usually told themselves more convincing lies than I ever could.

  Lara reddened and looked down, and I thought I’d embarrassed her. But when she raised her head again, her lips trembled as though she were about to cry. “That’s it?” she asked. “The same thing you told the police? That’s all you’re going to tell me, really?”

  I was taken aback. It wasn’t like Lara to want all the gruesome details, especially from me. “Why do you want to know?”

  “You have to ask.” She gave a shaky laugh. “Because I care about you, maybe? Because I’m your friend? Because I thought it might help you to talk about it to somebody you could trust? You were gone for three and a half months, Tori. I cried myself to sleep so many nights, imagining what you were going through. And then Alison disappeared too, and the police were looking for some guy named Faraday that they thought might have kidnapped you both, and I felt sick knowing he was out there and I could be next—”

  “Lara—”

  “Don’t. Let me finish.” She took a deep breath. “And then you came back, and I was so happy. Scared too, because I didn’t know what he’d done to you or how much you’d changed. But I wanted to be there for you when you needed me. Only … you didn’t. You still don’t.”

  I was silent.

  “You know, you could have said you weren’t ready, and I would have understood. You didn’t have to lie about it.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Yes, you did. I know you, Tori.” She crumpled the empty poutine cup and dropped it onto the tray. “But okay, if that’s what you want. I won’t ask you again.” She paused and added in a bitter undertone, “He told me you’d lie to me, just like you’d lied to everyone else. And I didn’t believe him.”

  “Who said that?” I was getting angry now. “Brendan?”

  Lara jumped up, grabbing her purse and swinging it across her body like a shield. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Just because you didn’t want Brendan, you think he’s no good for me either. And now you don’t trust me anymore.” A tear trickled down her cheek, a thread of mascara running with it. “You’d rather hang around in the psych ward with Alison Jeffries.”

  How she’d found out about me visiting Alison I had no idea, but I wasn’t going to get into that now. “What’s she got to do with anything?” I demanded. “Just because I don’t blame her for what happened—”

  “I thought you didn’t remember what happened. So how do you know she’s not to blame?”

  Logic wasn’t usually Lara’s strong point, especially when she was upset. Something was definitely wrong here. “I just know, okay?” I said between my teeth. People were turning to look at us, and I could tell from their expressions that some of them recognized me. “And if you’re going to yell at me, can we do this somewhere else?”

  Lara swiped her fingers across her eyes, smearing makeup in all directions. “There’s nothing to do,” she said thickly. “You’re leaving soon, and we’re never going to see each other again. And like you said, it’s probably for the best. So have a nice trip. Have a nice life.”

  She turned her back on me, but her shoulders were hunched, and I knew she didn’t mean to walk away. She was hoping I’d call out to her, with the catch in my breath that would tell her I was crying too. And then we’d hug and murmur apologies to each other and go somewhere to talk it out.

  But she was right. I was leaving, and there was nothing to be done about it. So I stared down at the table, silently counting the dots patterned across its surface. I had to stop at eighty-seven because my eyes stung too much to focus, and when I looked up, Lara was gone.

  (1.4)

  The next day I was upstairs in my bedroom, packing up my old hockey medals and a few other mementos I couldn’t bear to throw out, when the doorbell rang. I heard my mother’s steps click slowly across the tile, then speed up as she hurried to answer it.

  Which meant the visitor was someone she trusted. Probably a friend or a neighbor dropping by to tell us they were sorry we were moving. I was reaching for another box when Mom’s voice echoed up from the front hall below:

  “Oh, hello, Constable. What can we do for you?”

  I froze, not quite believing what I’d heard, then backed out into the hallway for confirmation. When I leaned over the railing, I could see him standing on the step—a compact, sandy-haired man in uniform, his policeman’s cap tucked beneath his arm.

  “Good day, ma’am,” he said. “I’m following up on some details of your daughter’s case, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask her a couple of questions.”

  Constable Deckard. We’d only met once, when I came into the station to give the police my statement. But I knew that when I disappeared, he’d taken a special interest in my case. So special, in fact, that my mom had made a point of seeking him out and thanking him personally before we left.

  “He was so thorough,” she’d reminisced as we were driving away. “And he never gave up, even when the other officers seemed to have lost hope and moved on. He spent hours interviewing us and your teachers and all your friends—anyone who might know even the tiniest detail about what had happened to you.”

  “That’s what police officers do, Mom,” I said, but she shook her head.

  “Not like this. I ran into one of the dispatchers at the Blueberry Festival, and she told me that he’d been putting in fifteen or twenty hours of overtime a week on your case alone. She said he’d always been a hard worker, but she’d never seen him so determined—you’d think it
was his own daughter who had gone missing.”

  I found that idea a little disturbing, but my mother obviously didn’t see it that way. “And he was always so easy to talk to,” she went on dreamily. “So patient and kind. I really felt like he understood.”

  “Is there something I should know, Gisele?” my dad had asked in a mock-jealous tone, and she’d swatted him. But beneath the teasing, I could tell Dad felt the same way about Deckard as she did.

  So when Mom opened the door and showed Deckard into the parlor, I wasn’t surprised. Though if I’d had the chance, I’d have warned her that the last thing we needed right now was a policeman who’d taken a personal interest in my case and was trying to wrap up all the loose ends.

  Still, there wasn’t any easy way to get rid of him now. So when my mom called me, I came downstairs and took a seat on the sofa across from Deckard. But I kept my eyes lowered and my shoulders slumped, hoping he’d take pity on me and keep it brief.

  “As I told your mother,” Deckard began with a nod in her direction, “I’m looking into a couple of matters related to your case. I’d appreciate any help or information you can give.” He slid a picture across the coffee table for me to look at. “Do you recognize this man?”

  It wasn’t a mug shot, just an ordinary photo of a young man with a lean face and shaggy brown hair—the underfed graduate-student type. I studied it for exactly three seconds, and then I handed it back. “No. Who is he?”

  “He calls himself Sebastian Faraday. You’ve never met this man or spoken with him?”

  Thanks to Lara, I knew what this was about. The police still thought Sebastian might have been responsible for kidnapping me. But they were never going to find him now, no matter what I told them. And I didn’t want to talk to Deckard one millisecond longer than I had to. “No,” I said.