by L. C. Shaw
I am talking to my baby, telling him how much I love him—I feel I’m having a boy. I tell him stories of his family. The yia yia and papou who would spoil him, the aunt who would adore him.
I don’t know how long Crosse has been standing outside my door, only that he has overheard some of it. He opens the door, stares at me, and then begins to laugh.
“Love! My child will have no need of this emotion full of fallacies. They say God is love. My child will have nothing to do with either. Don’t waste your time, Maya. You are merely the vessel. You will have no influence on what my child thinks, feels, or believes. He is going to be powerful. More powerful than you can ever imagine. I would have thought that would have been enough for you. Your ego should love that, no? You, the mother of the most powerful man in the world?”
“You are insane!”
“Insane? Far from it.”
“What has happened to my parents?” I demand.
He gives me a contemptuous look, and his lips form a scowl. “No matter what we did, they wouldn’t give up the hiding place. They admitted they brought them from Greece, but they refused to say where they are hidden.” He shakes his head. “I don’t understand it. They were unshakable.”
“What did you do to them?” I choke the words out. I don’t want to know, but I have to suffer, too, must know what they went through.
He makes a dismissive gesture with his hands. “It doesn’t matter. They are gone now. Your sister will believe that they had an ordinary automobile accident. Nothing to arouse suspicions. And we will keep watch on her. Surely there will be something in the will or in their papers that she will find and lead us to the coins. We will wait for as long as it takes.”
My grief is intermingled with relief. They won’t kill my sister. She is useful to them. For now at least. And maybe I’ll be able to get to her somehow. I can only hope and pray that my parents took the secret of the coins with them to their graves.
He stands and paces. “What would make someone so stubborn? Their faith could not be broken, no matter how hard we tried.” He brings a fist down on the table so hard that the glass on it tips over and water runs off.
My parents didn’t die in vain. Now I understand the faith my mother told me about—the one that sent those three men into the fire. I sit up straighter and stare into his eyes.
“My child will return to God one day.”
He looks at me with such murderous rage that I shrink back, afraid he will strike me. He comes close to me, until he is just inches from my face, and I can feel his breath on my cheek.
“My child will never worship your god. He will rule nations and be responsible for turning others away from your god. Know this, Maya: your prayers are impotent. His destiny is sealed.”
I bite my lip and take a deep breath. Then a thought occurs to me, and I move my face even closer to his, in our own twisted version of chicken.
“We shall see about that, Damon. We both know how the story ends. I assume you have read Revelation, the book written by Saint John on Patmos. The Battle of Armageddon will see your master thrown into the pit forever. Christ will be victorious. The battle is already won.”
His eyes narrow to slits, and he flies from the room, and the lock clicks behind him. My heart is still pounding, and I breathe deeply to regain my equilibrium. I begin to wonder if I’ve gone too far. When dinnertime comes, there is nothing but beef stew. He knows I hate red meat. By morning, I am ravenous but it’s a bloody steak this time. So he will have the last word after all.
Chapter Thirty-Six
SIR,” JONAS SAID AFTER ENTERING DAMON’S PRIVATE chambers. “Your guest has arrived.”
“Bring her in,” Damon instructed him.
Once Jonas had withdrawn, Dakota knelt before Damon and bowed her head.
“Master. Thank you for calling me home. I am ready.”
He placed a hand on her head. “You have served me well. Rise. There is still much to do.”
She stood. “It is my greatest honor.”
He nodded and pointed to the door.
“Your room is ready. They are waiting to examine and prepare you.”
She hesitated for a moment, and he took a deep breath. She was loyal but needy. He forced himself to smile at her and say the words he knew she was waiting for. “I am well pleased with you.”
After she left, Damon opened the connecting door that led to his bedroom and called out to Peritas. He had to keep the dog separate from Dakota. Even though Peritas was obedient, he couldn’t be calmed if Dakota was anywhere near him. He growled and barked ceaselessly whenever he saw her.
“Come here, my boy.”
Peritas sniffed furiously and growled low in his throat. “It’s all right. She’s gone. We only need her for a little longer.”
An hour later, Jonas came in to tell him the procedure was finished. He left the room and went to check on her. Dakota looked like she was still groggy from the anesthesia, so he sat and waited until her eyes opened.
“How many did they get?” she asked.
Damon looked pleased.
“Eight. You’re a very fertile young woman.”
She laughed. “Good to know. How many are they going to fertilize?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What does it matter to you?”
“They are my eggs, so I think it is my concern. Who is the surrogate?”
He had no intention of sharing that information with her. After her self-inflicted abortion, her uterus was no longer viable. He didn’t trust her not to be jealous that someone else would carry his future heirs. The only reason he wanted her eggs was that she was brilliant and ruthless. She had the characteristics that would assure him that this time his heirs wouldn’t have an attack of conscience and betray him. He rose. “Don’t concern yourself with the details. You are being spared the indignity of another pregnancy. That’s all you need to know.”
“Shouldn’t I have some say in who hosts my babies?”
He gave her a sardonic look. He knew the only thing she was worried about was her position with him. “I’m well aware of your maternal instincts. These children will be kept far from you.”
He left the room without another word. He went to his library and sat down at his desk. There was a knock on the door.
“Yes?”
Jonas poked his head in. “Dr. Whitmore would like a word with you, sir.”
“Send him in.”
The doctor came in and stood until Damon invited him to sit. This was a man he had known for over thirty years, yet their relationship was still as formal as it had been on the day they’d first met. The doctor looked at the floor, then at his fingernails, and finally at the folder on his lap—anywhere but at Damon.
Damon cleared his throat and the doctor reluctantly met his eyes. “Well?”
He blinked repeatedly, then pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up to the bridge of his nose.
“I’m running out of patience,” Damon warned.
“It seems that, ahem, your sperm count is quite low.”
Several seconds of silence ensued before Damon spoke. “How low?”
The doctor looked down at his feet. “Nonexistent actually. I’m afraid that even intracytoplasmic sperm injection won’t work. I see no viable options here.”
Damon nodded. He would not react. “That is all.”
The doctor rose and hurried out of the room.
How could this be? It had never occurred to him that he had anything to worry about. If the idea of producing a specimen wasn’t so disgusting, perhaps he would have made provisions earlier. It had taken him weeks to provide the sample for Jeremy. He wasn’t wired with a single sexual urge. He was horrified at the messiness of it, the loss of control. It was something he would never understand. The irony. How many men had lost kingdoms, untold wealth, all they held dear, because of sex? He was not susceptible to such yearnings and for that he had always been grateful, but now it had the power to be his undoing. Never one to wallow in regrets, he s
tood and began mentally preparing for his next steps. He was filled with renewed resolve as he pondered his good fortune in concocting a contingency plan so long ago. He went to his bedchamber and packed his suitcase. He rang for Jonas, his thoughts racing while he waited.
“Yes, sir?” Jonas came into the room.
“I’ll be gone for a few days. Please see that everything runs smoothly in my absence. What time is the new group scheduled to arrive?”
“Five o’clock, sir.”
“I presume everything is prepared?”
Jonas nodded. “Of course, sir.”
Damon sank down onto the soft cushion of his silk chaise, suddenly tired. He felt all of his seventy years. In the space of an hour, he had gone from a vital thriving man to a withered shell. No. He raised his head. He was Damon Crosse. He was never out of options. He knew where he must now focus his efforts. In the end, all that mattered was that he had a suitable heir. Perhaps this was better after all.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
THE INSTITUTE, DECEMBER 1975
EVERY TIME HE COMES TO VISIT WITH ME HE TELLS ME more. His revelations leave me breathless and heartsick. Is there no one who can stop him? He interrupts my desperate prayers.
“A futile effort, Maya.” He laughs derisively. “Don’t count on any help from your god. He has abandoned you just as you will abandon your child.” He sneers at me as he lifts his coffee cup to his mouth.
“But don’t worry. Your child will have a crucial role in my plan for society. By the time he’s grown and ready to take his place beside me, so much will have already been accomplished. The important work being done here will assure that.”
I can keep quiet no longer. “Important work? Like torturing unsuspecting students? You’re a sadist. Pure and simple.”
He shakes his head. “You disappoint me, Maya. I’m building a better world,” he says, laughing again. “Or at least that’s what I tell those in my employ. And my best is still to come. One day, it will be virtually impossible to give birth to anything but a physically perfect child.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Genetic testing. We will use it on pregnant women, and if the child has a birth defect, we will mandate abortion.”
“You’re crazy! A law like that will never pass.”
“That’s what they said about abortion. It will happen, and when it does, it will make the abortion rates skyrocket.” He was gleeful.
“What does increasing the abortion rate do for your cause?” I ask.
His eyes look upward. “There’s nothing more precious in the eyes of God than new life. Anything I can do to destroy those lives, I’ll do. If I can prevent the birth of just one true believer who might shape the world in a better direction, I’ll have done well.”
I am without words. The more I am forced to endure his lectures, the more tainted and soul sick I feel. I say the only thing I can think of to make him angry.
“You won’t prevail. No matter how important you think you are, there will always be many more good men and women who will fight you.”
“Good men and women? There are no good people. They are all self-interested, easily manipulated little pawns. I’ll show you.”
I shake my head.
“I don’t want to see any more of your work.”
He grabs my arm. “It’s not a request.”
Still, I refuse to move. “Why do you care what I think? What difference does it make if you show me these things?”
“You will accompany me to this meeting, but you will say nothing. Do you understand? Or should I have your sister brought here?”
“I understand.” I stand and follow him from the room. He has taken my parents from me, and I can’t let him take her, too. Despite all he is capable of, I cling to the hope that he will leave her alone. Do I believe she is truly out of danger? As long as she is his only connection to the coins, I think she is. But I can’t take any chances.
He opens a door to a boardroom and sits at the head of the table. He points to a chair on his right, and I take a seat. There are three people sitting at the long, chrome table. No one asks who I am; they only glance quickly in my direction.
“Good day, Doctors. I trust you have found it easy to work together and come up with a program with which you all agree? Let us hear from the psychiatrist first.”
A man who looks to be in his mid-forties, balding, with round-rimmed spectacles answers, “It has been most interesting to hear the opinions of my esteemed colleagues. I now have a better understanding of neuroscience, as well as sexual medicine. We have put together a protocol that we believe will please you.” He hands Damon a folder.
Damon opens it and makes a face. He looks disgusted. I get a glimpse of a naked woman being restrained. I can’t see the rest of the photo, but my imagination fills in the blanks.
Damon puts the picture back in the folder and throws it down. “How does it work?”
The psychiatrist looks at the woman next to him and then back at Damon. “I will let Dr. Droskin, our neuroscientist, answer that.”
Droskin speaks. “We will combine video, magazines, books, and auditory measures to stimulate the subjects and to measure which has the greatest and most immediate effect. Video will leverage the mirror neuron tendencies by zooming in and making the subject feel he is experiencing what is happening on the screen. We will measure response to stimuli and whether or not we can change the sexual appetite by repeated exposure to negative stimuli if it follows positive stimuli closely enough.”
Damon is nodding. He turns his attention to the last man in the room. “Let’s hear from our sexual medicine specialist.”
“In a nutshell, we show them something that turns them on. Right after, we show one of the scenarios they find abhorrent—rape, torture, bondage. We see if repeated exposure to the negative, closely after erotic stimulation, eventually pairs the two scenarios until the subject is aroused by all the scenarios. It is our theory that sexual predators are made, not born. If we can understand the process behind it, we have great hopes of curing them.”
The psychiatrist picks up the thread. “Most of these criminals have been exposed to this behavior from their male caregivers. They have been subjected to torture and abuse themselves, then forced to participate in these crimes until their sexual appetites are perverted. We will attempt to replicate this to see if our theories are indeed correct. We will also inundate them through their auditory channel, with the sounds of women pleading, anguished cries, and so on, until they become desensitized to them. It is a protocol that we’ve—”
Damon interrupts him. “So you believe you can find the key to how rapists and sadists develop?”
“That is our hypothesis. We can begin tomorrow.”
Crosse stands. “I look forward to your updates.” He turns to me. “Let’s go.”
As we walk down the hall I can’t help but see how pleased with himself he looks.
“They think they’re working on a cure, but you’re going to use it to make sexual predators.”
He smiles at me. “Ah, Maya. You’re catching on.”
“If they’re looking for a cure, why wouldn’t they take existing deviants and try to do the opposite, to make their appetites normal?”
“It’s too late by then. Those men are too damaged. We need to reach people earlier. The research wouldn’t bear it out, and I couldn’t find anyone to agree to experiment on children. This way, if it works, they can reverse the methods to be used on younger subjects that are pulled from such circumstances.”
I shake my head. “It’s a specious argument. Your scientists are charlatans.”
“They are not your traditional doctors. If, at first, they worried about turning normal men into rapists and sadists, their egos allowed them to believe the lie—that they could turn them back. They are lured by the promise of becoming pioneers, of discovering a cure for what is currently incurable. To turn a predatory sexual deviant into a contributing member of society is the h
ead shrinker’s holy grail.” He arches an eyebrow. “See? Self-interest at work once again.”
“And how are you going to implement this in society? Are you going to kidnap young men and brainwash them?”
“Of course not. I will implement another training program at the Institute and rewire the brains of our future leaders. I’ll be judicious, but done to the right men, the consequences will be far-reaching. You’d be amazed at what men will do to satisfy their deviant urges. Only a little tweak here and there to a select few—I can’t risk turning out an army of sociopaths, after all, I need to keep control.”
I hate him with every fiber of my being. I want to crush him. I want to watch him bleed and die. I now understand how someone can murder. I know we are supposed to love our enemies, but this man standing before me is not worthy of love. There isn’t a shred of humanity in him. If I didn’t know better, I would believe he was the devil incarnate. I can’t allow him to raise my child. I must figure out a way to prevent this child from being born alive. I will find a way and hope that God will forgive me.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
DAMON CROSSE SIGHED IN ANNOYANCE AT THE PERSISTENT ringing. He hated being interrupted.
“What?” he barked into the receiver.
“We’ve located them.”
His hold on the phone tightened. “Where are they?”
“A motel in New Hampshire. We just got a call from one of our men inside Jeremy’s organization. They checked in last night.”
“And I’m only being informed now?”
The voice on the other end grew quiet.
