Folsom

by Tarryn Fisher

  I peek into Laticus’ room, waving the mask to one of his favorite virtual games. I’m awarded with a huge grin. He hops up and takes it.

  “If you promise not to stay up all night playing it, you can keep it in here,” I tell him. I try to inconspicuously collect his sperm container, dropping it into a baggie and putting it in my pocket.

  “Thanks, Gwen,” he says. His face grows serious and I have a feeling I know what he’s going to say. It’s been a frequent topic between us. “I overheard the doctors saying Folsom’s leaving soon. Is that true?” He fluctuates between calling Folsom by name and calling him his father.

  “Yes, could be as soon as tomorrow. I just found out.” I try to keep the emotion out of my voice, sure that Laticus will pick up on it.

  “Do you think I can see him? Before he leaves?”

  I’d hoped it would happen before now, but Folsom hasn’t agreed to it yet. I can’t tell Laticus that. “I’m still working on it. It might be the middle of the night or early morning…later tomorrow if he stays longer…but I will try to make sure it happens.”

  The adoration on his face kicks me in the gut all the way out the door. I hope I don’t let him down.

  At seven o’clock when Genome Y is usually still hopping, Doctor Hunley clears out all but one of the attending staff and assigns her to labs. Locked in an eight by ten windowless room, she will be secluded for at least an hour. Doctor Hunley buzzes me, and I quickly make my way to dome six. I see the doctor coming out of Folsom’s room and going to the central desk, pulling out a few files and a book. She smiles when she sees me coming.

  “I’m giving you time with him, not permission to exhaust him.” She picks up her book and waves it. “I’ll be right out here. Make sure he’s rested. His meeting with the Society is at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I agree. “I won’t be able to stay long anyway.”

  I might be back out in minutes if Folsom isn’t in the mood for company. I tap on the door and then enter, holding up two glasses of lemonade.

  “Sounds like you’re skipping out on this place soon. Thought you might want to celebrate.” I get all the words out without sobbing and wonder if that’s what pregnancy will mean for me: constant emotion. Or maybe it’s just Folsom’s effect on me.

  “No bourbon?” He turns to face me and reaches for the drink, clanking our bottles together. “The doc said I should get at least one good night’s sleep in this place.”

  It registers then that he’s standing by the window and doesn’t have a machine or tubes trailing behind him. He takes a long swig of the drink as he looks outside and my throat burns.

  “You seem happy to go. I thought you might like the peace a little longer,” I say quietly.

  He makes a face, wiping his fist across his mouth. “Peace? Being poked and prodded here, or poking my way through the female population out there…either way, no peace. I may as well get on with it. Live life to the fullest, isn’t that the saying?”

  I swallow the lump I’ve had in my throat since this morning and move next to him, watching the beacon from the lighthouse cast light across the water.

  “I’ll be sad to see you go,” I tell the window. I can’t look at him.

  He turns my chin toward him. “You act like you’ll never see me again.”

  “Because I most likely won’t,” I say. “I spend most of my time here and you’ll be—”

  He runs a finger across my top lip, smiling faintly like he’s enjoying a private joke with himself.

  He’s looking at me with the same hunger as he had this morning… I haven’t let myself think about that all day. He moves our glasses out of the way and takes my face in his hands. His mouth is on mine before I know what’s happening, but I quickly respond, my tongue clashing with his. His hands are everywhere: my hair, my face, my breasts, my ass. My lab coat falls to the floor, shirt following, and he has my pants halfway to the ground before I can get his shirt yanked over his head.

  “I want you right here,” his teeth tug on my nipple, “against this window, with that light flashing across your skin…” His fingers move between my legs and when he pushes a finger inside of me, my head falls back against the window and I start panting.

  “Folsom,” I moan. “We’re going to get caught…” He doesn’t seem to care.

  He draws his fingers in and out slowly and then gets on his knees. With his other hand, he spreads me wide and groans, watching his fingers disappear inside me. I’m so wet it’s embarrassing, but he spreads all of my wetness across my clit as he looks up at me.

  “You like that?” he asks.

  I whimper out a yes, my legs trembling.

  When his tongue flicks across my clit, I grab a handful of his hair and pull, anything to keep from screaming out. He goes faster, and I don’t even know what he’s doing with his mouth because it’s all I can do to have a coherent thought. I shudder and convulse and he moans and bucks like he can feel everything I’m feeling. I clench around his fingers, coming so hard my knees buckle, and he holds me up, kissing up my body until he’s standing over me, fingers still working me over.

  He pulls out and puts my hand on his cock, which is hard and heavy, bobbing into my hand. He leans his forehead against mine as I fist around him and slide up and down. When I get a little braver, I swirl my thumb over the tip and his head falls back. He moves my hand away and plunges into me, deep. I cry out and he lifts his head and stares at me while we move together. I pretend we’re two normal people falling in love and starting our lives together, rather than two splintered people saying goodbye. His eyes never leave mine and even when we both rush faster toward our finish, we ride out the pain, the fury, the ecstasy…together.

  “Have you been sick?” he asks, when we’re cleaned up and lying in bed.

  “Too soon for that, I think. Maybe next week or the next the symptoms will start.”

  “Your sister?” he asks.

  I grow silent. I haven’t seen my sister in weeks. I’ve been so busy. It strikes me as odd that I don’t even know if she’s pregnant or not. Surely my mother would have said something…

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. Folsom nods.

  I keep telling myself I’ll only stay ten minutes longer, but we keep finding things to talk about.

  “Yeah…” I trail off. “I have been more tired than usual. I guess this is why.”

  “Or because you work nonstop.”

  “That too.” I smile.

  I think about Laticus and the fun I’ve had getting to know him the past few weeks. He’s such a good kid and I know Folsom would be proud of him. My heart starts pounding faster and I don’t think, I just go for it.

  “You need to meet your son.”

  Folsom turns to me and I see the resignation in his eyes. “Okay,” he says quietly.

  That was easy.

  I get up and put my pants on, searching the floor for my lab coat. I have to hurry before he changes his mind.

  “Does he want to see me?”

  I pause in what I’m doing to look at Folsom. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him look vulnerable. His eyes are downcast, staring at his hands.

  “Of course he does. He’s a fifteen-year-old boy who’s just been ripped from the only life he’s ever known. He misses his mother, and I think it’ll do him good to see you.”

  He nods.

  “Folsom, if people knew…if they knew that you didn’t consider the life of the End Men as…enjoyable…they’d—”

  “They’d what?” he says, his head snapping up.

  “The people should know. They should know how much they expect of you, how little they care about your well-being.”

  His eyes flash. “I don’t need to be pitied. I’m doing what has to be done.”

  I straighten up and walk over to where he’s sitting, then I bend down and kiss his forehead. “Thank you. It can never be said enough. For your sacrifice, for everything. Let’s go, we don’t have much
time.”

  Folsom follows me silently through the hallways and waits as I scan my badge at each security checkpoint. I glance back at him once only to see that he’s frowning. The lights in the building have been dimmed down, the brightness of the day gone. I’ve worked many late nights, often being the last to leave the building, but it feels strange to be creeping around with Folsom. When we reach dome five, I scan my card for the last time before stepping into the section where they keep Laticus. It’s just a few steps now, and my stomach clenches uncomfortably. What if this was the wrong decision? Maybe seeing each other isn’t good for either of them. Too late to turn back, we stand in front of Laticus’ door and I glance once more at Folsom.

  “Ready?” I ask. He nods.

  I push open the door.

  FIFTEEN

  FOLSOM

  The boy is awake. His face lights up when he sees Gwen and then his eyes slowly travel to where I’m standing. His expression changes, a shift in his eyes and mouth. He stands up slowly from the bed where he’s been reading, and I move out from behind Gwen. His book slips from the bed and falls to the floor. He doesn’t acknowledge it as he takes a step toward me, his bare feet hesitant.

  “Folsom.” He says my name first like he’s trying it out.

  I say nothing, taking him in. He is the spitting image of my brother, the uncle he will never know. I see the Donahue dark hair, glossy black/brown curls and thick, even eyebrows; underneath sit two blue eyes that are both honest and mischievous. All words catch in my throat as I look at him.

  “Hello, Laticus,” I manage finally, and he seems relieved that I’ve spoken.

  “You look like me,” he says. “More than on the news.”

  He glances at the Silverbook, which is on mute, a loop of my night at the party playing.

  “I keep it on, makes me feel like I’m not alone in here.”

  His simple statement makes me hurt so deeply I have to turn my head away.

  “What are you reading?” I ask, nodding to the book which lays open on the floor. It looks like a book shot dead and sprawled face down. Laticus bends to pick it up and hands it to me.

  “I read that it was your favorite.”

  I take it from his outstretched hand, glancing at the spine. “Gone with the Wind,” I announce. “It’s definitely one of them.”

  “Rhett has some pretty good quotes about war,” he says. I nod, unable to formulate words. I read this very book at his age and thought the same thing.

  “Are you comfortable? Are they treating you well?” I ask him. He glances at Gwen then and smiles.

  “It’s okay. I’m bored mostly. Gwen is my new best friend.”

  “Yeah, that makes two of us,” I say, glancing at her. She’s standing with her back pressed against the closed door, trying to pretend she’s not listening to us.

  Laticus smiles and this time it’s directed at me. “Want some candy?”

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice gruff. He walks over to a basket sitting on a desk and plucks out two large chocolate bars in colorful wrappers. He offers me one and I take it. We both tear open the wrappers, eyes on each other. We eat them mostly in silence, watching each other. I hardly taste the chocolate sticking to my teeth and the roof of my mouth, but the act of eating candy with my son is so significant that my hands are trembling.

  “That’s your favorite chocolate,” Laticus says. “I’ve read everything there is to read about you. I kept a notebook and would write it all down.”

  I set my half-eaten bar down on the table, overcome with what he’s saying. I’ve known his name, his age; I remember the night I took his mother and put him inside of her. She was one of my first and she’d been horribly nervous until I sang her my favorite song and stroked her hair. I’d meant it to be funny, but she’d told me that I had a beautiful voice and asked me to sing it again. After that, after I’d already moved on to my next station, they’d told me our coupling was successful and that he would be the first male child born to the Regions in twenty years.

  “Tell me about you then,” I say. “Because I don’t know anything and I want to.”

  He pulls out the only chair in the room and I sit while he perches on the edge of the bed. He has straight posture, a strong chin. He bears none of the awkwardness I remember about myself at his age. I see what Gwen has been saying about him.

  “What do you want to know?” he asks.

  “What was your childhood like? How did you like where you lived?”

  “The Black Region,” he says. “It’s all right. My friends are all girls…”

  We both smile. “My mother, she’s great. She never let me think I was special, while always making me feel special.” He grins. “Like, you may be one of the only men on Earth, Laticus, but pick up your damn socks.”

  “Did you go to school?”

  “The Society sent tutors. I’m fluent in six languages, and I have completed all of my University courses in mathematics.”

  “You have a degree in math?” I ask, surprised. He nods.

  “I can also dance the foxtrot and cook a soufflé.”

  “Impressive. The perfect man.”

  “That’s what they were aiming for, I think.”

  We grow silent. The Society’s agenda has suddenly seeped into the room.

  “They want me to join the End Men right away. I was supposed to wait another two and a half years, but they say I’m ready.”

  “You’re not ready,” I say quickly. I can almost feel Gwen tense up behind me.

  “I want to help. I want to do what you do.”

  Anger clenches my insides. He’s just a boy, but I have to warn him. I breathe deeply before continuing.

  “The life I live is lonely. I have no home, I have no family, and I have no ties to any one place. What they make us do takes our souls; it turns us into machines that function without love. Every human needs love, Laticus. You have the love of your mother—your friends. But, they’ll make you give that up when you join the End Men.”

  He’s quiet for a long time, watching my face with something akin to confusion.

  “I am your family,” he says, finally. “You’re not alone anymore.”

  It takes everything in me to not stand up and walk out of the room. His simple words crack open the resolution I try so hard to maintain. I think I’m having another heart attack and almost tell Gwen so, when I realize I’m feeling—feeling more intensely than I have in a very long time. I’m about to speak again when I hear Gwen’s voice.

  “Folsom, we have to go.”

  I look back at Laticus whose face drops in disappointment.

  “So soon?” he asks.

  “I’m afraid so.” Gwen smiles at him gently and his shoulders sag.

  “Can you come again?” he asks me.

  “I don’t know.”

  He nods and I can tell he’s trying to be strong.

  He walks us the few steps to the door and before I can follow Gwen out, I grab him, pulling him into my chest. He’s still half a foot shorter than me. I feel his arms wrap around my back and squeeze. I hold him there for a minute before I abruptly let him go and push past Gwen into the hallway. I hear her say “good night” to him and then the door clicks closed, leaving my son in his prison.

  The next morning I wake up with a terrible headache. Light streams into the room and I flinch against it, recounting the events of the night before. Gwen had led me back to my room silently, kissing me lightly on the lips before turning to leave. The knowledge that she is carrying my son while also taking care of my teenage son is something that makes me both relieved and unsettled. Before now, after impregnating a woman, I hardly saw her again. If I did, it was in passing: at a party, or years later when I returned to their Region and we ran into each other. I’ve seen Gwen more than I’ve seen any other woman, aside from Robin. My attachment to her has grown over the weeks. And Laticus, I’d not known what to expect when I saw him. Would there be a detachment, or would he feel like my son? But, the minu
te I walked into that room, I felt the connection. Maybe it had been his resemblance to my brother that caused my heart to immediately open to him. I want to protect him.

  “Folsom,” Doctor Hunley walks into the room, her face serious.

  “Members of the Society have arrived. They’re setting up for your meeting.”

  I nod. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

  The Society is a privately funded group, started by a man named Earl Oppenheimer just after the mumps epidemic sterilized the last of the men. He was eighty-seven years old when he called the first meeting, recruiting scientists, politicians, and doctors to join the organization as a way to find a solution to the universal problem of male extinction.

  I was twelve years old when I first heard about it, my mother having received a summons to bring me to the newly founded Genome Y lab. Earl lived just long enough to see the birth of Laticus before he died, and his daughter, Milly, took over the organization.

  Milly sits at the head of a large table when I walk into the room, her hands clasped in front of her. Seated around the table are ten other people, some of whom I recognize. They’re all founding members of the Society.

  Doctor Hildenburg, the head of the Regional research team, a fox-faced woman who keeps her grey hair in a long braid down her back; their lead scientist, a man in his eighties named Rolfston; and Rain Foster, who is the liaison between the End Men and the Regions. I nod to all of them as I take my seat opposite Milly, and then introductions are made around the table.

  “We’re delighted that you’re back on your feet and feeling better,” Milly says. “We’ve been in constant contact with your doctor here in the lab, and she assures us that you’ve received the best medical treatment they can provide. Can you tell us how you’re feeling, Folsom?”

  Such a loaded question.

  “I’m all right,” I say slowly.

  This seems to satisfy her. “Good, good. Because we’d like for you to get back to work if you’re ready.”