Our son, Theodore Buswell Jr, was born on a cold morning in January. Even for a newborn, he was unbelievably small, weighing barely five pounds. He was tiny and pink and perfect. But within a few days, we began to suspect something was wrong. He was so weak he couldn’t even lift his arms.
One afternoon, when he was barely a week old, Anna put him down for a nap and he never woke up. Her screams when she discovered his little lifeless body was the most heartbreaking sound I have ever heard.
An autopsy revealed our son had been born with only two valves in his heart. The doctor, an insensitive oaf, tried to comfort Anna by telling her it was all for the best. He explained that our son was an unfit, and even if he had miraculously survived to adulthood, he would just have ended up being sterilized anyway. “Better he died when he did and spare you the humiliation and inconvenience,” he said.
I have never in my entire life wanted to strangle someone with my bare hands as much as I wanted to strangle that man just then. How dare he call my sweet baby boy an inconvenience? That’s when I realized—this was the world I had helped create.
And how fittingly cruel it was that I had created a world my own child couldn’t live in.
Dr. Arthur Loughlin had addressed the Council more times than he could count, but today, under the Council’s gaze, Loughlin had to clench his fists to stop his hands from trembling.
His visit with Morgan had not gone the way he expected, so he had turned to John, hoping one of them would have the good sense to do the right thing. But since neither of them was willing to follow Loughlin’s orders, he had to take matters into his own hands.
He had been laying the necessary groundwork to carry out his plan for months now without even realizing it and couldn’t help but smile at how fortunate it was that the project that had started as such a nuisance would soon be his saving grace.
All Loughlin had to do now was convince the Elders.
“I’m not here today to talk about the Goodell proposal,” Loughlin said, his voice reverberating throughout the marble chamber. “I’m here today to revisit the issue concerning the asylum.”
“We’ve already closed this discussion, Dr. Loughlin,” Elder Kingsley said, waving one hand out from under the folds of his white robe.
“And I am respectfully asking you to reconsider,” replied Loughlin. “We’ve tried everything we can think of to cut the cost of the sterilization process. We’ve tried to convince lower class citizens to volunteer for sterilization. We even tried offering them compensation in return. And now that the Council is backing Goodell’s proposal, our situation is more dire than ever. We are simply running out of resources, gentlemen. It’s time we trim the fat.”
“And how would you propose we do that?” Elder Kingsley said, one hand resting under his chin, scrutinizing Loughlin from his lofty throne.
“The asylum provides no income and generates no necessary commodity,” Loughlin said. “And as soon as Dr. Goodell’s plan is implemented, the asylum’s temporary ward will become unnecessary. Why not take the steps to close its doors permanently? We indulged Emerson’s idea of rehabilitation long enough, rest his soul, but the results are simply not there. These people cannot be reformed, so it’s time to shut it down. “
“What do we do with the inmates then? They are not fit to be reintroduced back into society,” Elder Abbott said. He leaned on his right arm, propped up by his fist, never more than a few inches from Elder Kingsley.
“Every inmate in the terminal ward has proven they are either too feeble or too dangerous to coexist with us,” Loughlin said.
Elder Abbott raised an eyebrow. “Exile then?”
Loughlin shook his head. “That’s a temporary solution at best. I guarantee you, most of them will eventually try to find a way back into the city. We’ll be right back where we started. Or worse, they’ll bring the plague or some other terrible disease with them. No, we don’t need more people trying to slither their way past our wall.”
“You are raising a lot of very reasonable concerns, but I have yet to hear a useful solution,” Elder Kingsley said. His brow was raised and his eyes unfocused as he rubbed his left temple in a circular motion.
“My recommendation is we rid ourselves of the burden of having to take care of the terminal patients altogether,” Loughlin said. “The asylum already has the necessary facilities. As part of his refurbishment efforts, Elder Townsend has asked me to oversee all asylum-related repair processes and I have been informed that the staff will be running their final test of the asylum’s ‘crowd-control’ facilities tonight. They expect everything to be fully operational by the morning.”
A councilman gasped—one of lesser rank that Loughlin had never bothered to learn the name of. “That’s barbaric, Dr. Loughlin,” he said. “We’re talking about hundreds of people.”
“Then why did the Elders have me start this process in the first place if there was never any intention of following through?” Loughlin said, looking to Elder Townsend now for support. He sat above Loughlin, staring down his nose at him with a foreboding look, warning Loughlin to choose his next words carefully. “Sometimes warfare requires us to make unsavory choices. We simply cannot afford to keep taking care of the unfit. We are taking valuable resources away from our law-abiding citizens and giving them to the terminal ward. That does not sound like justice to me. This Council has always looked after the well-being of its citizens, and I am simply requesting you continue to do just that. As quickly and humanely as possible.”
There were murmurs around the Council chambers and Loughlin could see a few men shaking their heads, still not convinced.
“I also have reason to believe that Theodore is stirring up unrest again,” Loughlin said firmly.
A hush fell over the room. Leaning forward in his chair Elder Kingsley studied Loughlin, a scowl on his face. “I thought Theodore died years ago.”
“I thought so too,” Loughlin said. “We were misinformed.”
“How credible is this information?”
“Credible enough,” Loughlin said, almost able to feel a discernible chill sweep throughout the chambers as his words fell on the Elders’ ears.
“And you’re sure the facilities are operational?” Elder Kingsley asked, almost whispering.
“They’re just waiting for us to give them the word.”
A heavy silence fell across the hall.
“Dr. Loughlin is right,” Elder Kingsley said, straightening himself in his chair and addressing the room now. “The terminal ward is not only an unnecessary expense but an unnecessary danger. Dr. Loughlin has quite passionately and quite logically made his point, so I propose that it’s time to put it to a vote. All in favor of terminating the terminal ward program?”
Slowly, each member of the Council raised their hands.
John walked down the winding halls. It was night, and the asylum was asleep. Quiet. Deceptively peaceful. John turned left, right, then left again, walking by the light of a few flickering candles.
The lone sound of John’s bare feet slapping against the tile echoed through the deserted halls and the cold floor sent a shiver up his spine. As John walked, he began to realize every single room he passed was empty, the doors open and swinging freely on their hinges.
He continued to walk for what felt like hours, seemingly looping through the same hallway over and over again. He stopped for a moment. There was somewhere important he needed to be, but he couldn’t remember why or how to get there. John tried to recall where he had been before now, what had happened earlier that day, how he had even gotten here in the first place, but he felt as though he was in a haze, unable to focus on a single thought for more than a moment before it slipped away.
A cry came from behind him. He turned around and, lying naked on the floor was a newborn baby girl. Her feet curled up towards her chest and her little fists waved in the air as her cries reverberated through the abandoned hallways. John ran to her, unbuttoning his jumpsuit down to the waist and rem
oving his undershirt as he went. He scooped her up in his arms and wrapped the cloth around her tiny body, pressing her cold skin against his.
“Hello,” John shouted, his voice echoing back to him. “Is anyone there?”
John couldn’t remember if he had ever held a baby before, unsure of what to do or if he was even holding her right. But as he lightly rocked her back and forth, her cries began to fade, and she nestled her face into the nape of John’s neck. She slowly opened her bright brown eyes and looked up at John, her sweet little hand reaching up and coming to rest on his chin.
“Hi,” he whispered softly. A sweet, toothless smile spread across her face. There was something so familiar about her face and the way her eyes glowed in the candlelight. He had seen those deep, brown eyes somewhere before.
Everything about her was perfect. Her cheeks were round and pink, and her lips the same color and shape as rose petals. As her gaze met his, John felt pure peace. Her face, her smell, her impossibly small features, everything about her was perfect in every single way, and as John held the precious infant in his arms, he was indescribably drawn to her, unable to imagine how the world could ever feel more serene—more complete—than it did this very moment.
Loud clangs suddenly echoed through the hallway, shaking the walls as they grew closer and closer with each reiteration until the air all around John vibrated violently. The baby in his arms startled at the sound and began to cry again, uncontrollably this time. John rocked her, pulling her tighter against his chest as he tried to gently soothe her, but her cries soon escalated into screams of pain as she arched her tiny body.
“Somebody help me!” he screamed, unable to hear his own voice above the deafening noise now surrounding them.
He held her tighter, rocking and bouncing her as he ran down the halls from room to room, frantically searching for someone to help. Her screams turned into gags as she choked for air, and John could do nothing but watch in horror as her little pink face slowly turned a sickly shade of blue.
Bringing the baby in his arms up to his face and resting his cheek against hers, John sank to his knees and sobbed, begging over and over again to some unseen entity that she would be all right. He held her there until he felt the tiny body in his arms go limp.
John woke up screaming.
Although it was barely mid-day, Loughlin Laboratories had already closed—a celebratory holiday of sorts the staff took to congratulate themselves on the completion of another successful evaluation season. This was the day Morgan and Charles had waited for, a chance to search the records room at the lab without an audience.
Morgan and Charles had asked Katherine to stay at the apartment, worried her presence might raise suspicion. Anyone with half a brain would have realized Morgan and Charles were acting rather suspicious themselves, but they hoped Morgan’s time as a volunteer, coupled with their last name, would be enough to prevent anyone from asking questions.
As they walked the street leading up to the lab, Morgan noticed Charles was limping again, inhaling sharply in discomfort with each step.
“I’m fine,” Charles said in response to Morgan’s concern, deflecting as he limped along. “Just another flare-up from all of this running around.”
But he looked terrible, as if he was coming down with something more serious than an aggravated knee. Then again, maybe the stress of the last few weeks was finally wearing down the ever-chipper Charles Loughlin. If Morgan had a spare moment to examine her own reflection, she probably wouldn’t have looked much better.
“What if I’m wrong?” Morgan asked as they drew closer to the main entrance of the laboratory, her heart rate increasing with every step. “What if we find Henry’s record and there’s nothing there and I just wasted everyone’s time? There isn’t enough time before Katherine’s hearing to come up with another plan.”
“That’s not entirely true,” Charles said. “I may have a plan, but it’s pretty extreme. I wasn’t even going to say anything about it. It’s downright ridiculous and I doubt Katherine would even agree to it.”
Morgan gave her brother a sideways look, silently demanding he continue.
“I just got to thinking, after Henry said what he did about me being the father of Katherine’s baby—”
“He was just trying to upset you,” Morgan said.
“I know, but it gave me an idea. I did some research and found this case from a while ago where a woman got pregnant, but her husband wasn’t the father. The father was a healthy, respectable man of good breeding, so the Council declared that the pregnancy could continue, so long as the real father agreed to step up and marry her.”
“Did it work?” Morgan asked.
“No, he ultimately refused so the pregnancy was terminated. But still, just the fact that the Council considered it is huge. If this doesn’t work out and we have no other option, what if I told the Council the baby was mine?”
Morgan’s jaw dropped. “He’s not yours, though, Charlie.”
“I know that, and you know that.”
“And Katherine knows that,” Morgan added.
“Right, but the Council doesn’t,” Charles said, unphased by Morgan’s interruption. “And it’s really not that far-fetched. Everyone knows Katherine and I have a history. I’m just saying, if it came down to it, it is an option. Unless you think it’s a terrible idea,” he quickly added.
Morgan considered it for a moment. Yes, she did think it was a terrible idea. Then again, who was she to judge?
“You’d have to marry her,” Morgan pointed out.
“I know,” Charles responded without hesitation.
“And you’d be raising a child that isn’t even yours.”
“I know that, too.”
“You would do that for her?” Morgan asked.
Charles nodded. “In a heartbeat.”
Morgan was speechless. Both by her brother’s bold statement and his amazingly selfless proposition. “What makes you think Katherine wouldn’t go for it?”
“She’s moved on,” Charles said, his gaze at his feet. “She doesn’t think of me that way anymore.”
“Oh, please. If you ask her, she’ll say yes. No questions about it.”
“Of course she will. She’d be crazy not to because I’m her last resort,” Charles said bitterly. “Because she has to or she’ll lose her baby. Because she literally can’t afford to say no to me. Pretty romantic, huh?” Charles scoffed. “The last thing I want is for her to feel trapped into being with me.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Hopefully we’ll find something else we can use, and we can forget I ever said anything.” Charles waved his hand, as if the act would clear their minds of the entire conversation. Charles limped silently along, his hands in his pockets.
Morgan reached out and gently caught Charles’s arm at the elbow. “She’d say yes because you’re a good man,” she said. “You are kind, brave, and unbelievably selfless. She’s lucky to have you. But would you be asking her to marry you because it’s what you want, or because you feel like it’s your duty to help her?”
Charles shrugged, his eyes on his shoes, wearing a kind of uncomfortable shyness Morgan had never seen on him before. “I still love her, Morgan,” he said. “I never really stopped.”
“Then you should ask her anyway, regardless of what we find today.”
Charles took a deep breath. “I’ll think about it.”
Morgan smiled. “It really is a good plan, Charlie. I’m surprised you were able to come up with it by yourself.”
“I can’t take all the credit.” Charles smiled. “Henry’s the one who gave me the idea in the first place. After he accused me of being the baby’s father I thought, why the hell not?”
“Can you imagine the look on the Bells’ faces if you marched into the Council chambers and announced the baby is yours?” Morgan said, laughing as the image of it came into her mind.
“At this point, I want to find something on Henry just so I can na
il that bastard to the wall. Plus, it’s always nice to have a back-up plan, just in case.”
They were at the front doors of the lab now. But as Morgan reached for the handle, she couldn’t help but think how insane this all was.
A single guard sat behind a desk, looking utterly bored and miserable for himself at having the bad fortune of being assigned to work the front desk of an empty building while all his coworkers celebrated. He must have immediately recognized Morgan and Charles, or he just didn’t care, because he waved them through without so much as a word.
Morgan relaxed just a bit. That was one felony down. It wasn’t exactly breaking and entering if they held the door open for you.
They searched for the records room, checking dozens of empty labs with no luck. A faint glow radiated from under a closed door ahead of them, and Morgan’s blood froze. Someone was still here working.
“I thought the lab was supposed to be empty,” Charles whispered to Morgan.
Careful not to make a sound, Morgan slowly walked towards the door until she could see the nameplate posted outside of the office. Professor Elliot Bren.
Morgan breathed a sigh of relief. At least it was a friend. Still, she thought it was probably best they not get caught by their father’s right-hand man.
Sneaking past Bren’s office and down the adjoining hall, Morgan and Charles finally found the records room. It was a large room with rows of servers lining the perimeter, all protected behind a wall of glass. In the center of the room was a giant monitor.
Heading immediately to the monitor, Morgan woke the system and was directed to a search screen. Her heart racing, Morgan typed in the name Bell, Henry, but the screen shook and beeped in protest.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Morgan said, not knowing why she expected it to be that easy. “Looks like we need some sort of clearance code. Look around. The doctors leave their coats in the labs all the time.”
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