Double Helix

by Nancy Werlin

  I went into the building.

  Even though to me it felt as if I were late, I was the first one in my lab. I ignored my work for just a few more minutes and called Viv. I told her I had had a good talk with my father and would see her later. Then I sat at my computer and addressed the things I was supposed to do, as if nothing had happened.

  It felt surprisingly good to work, and as the day passed and I ticked one item after another off my task list, I was actually able to forget for short periods of time. I found an interesting anomaly in the data for the current experiment—were the does producing a little too much protein in their milk?—and pointed it out to Larry, who clapped me on the shoulder and said it was good to have me back.

  Then all at once it was after six o’clock and the last of my colleagues were leaving. Larry called back to me: “Go home, Eli!”

  “I will!” I yelled, but the thick lab door had already closed and I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me . . . well . . .

  If he’d heard me lie. Because I wasn’t going home. Not yet, anyway. I was supposed to meet Viv at my apartment at 8:30, and I had plans for between now and then. They had been percolating on a subconscious level all day.

  I logged off my computer and shut it down. I wandered into the rabbits’ room and found myself in front of Foo-foo’s cage.

  “Foo,” I said softly. “Mind if I run something by you?” Foo-foo’s ears moved as I spoke, which was enough agreement for me.

  “Dr. Wyatt told me that my mother’s request changed the course of his intellectual life. But we don’t work with human fertility and human genetic manipulation here at Wyatt Transgenics. We develop protein enzymes in animal milk. And now I know about all those other human eggs . . . my mother’s . . .” I paused. I said, “Foo? Remember that little elevator?”

  Foo-foo’s whiskers twitched.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “I’m going alone this time.” Although, as I spoke, I found myself wondering if it really would be such a bad idea to bring Foo-foo. Of course, I’d get in trouble if anyone saw us. But then again, if I did get caught, - wouldn’t I look more innocent if Foo-foo—rather than, say, my father or Viv—was with me? I could even say I’d been chasing her again.

  I unlatched Foo-foo’s cage and tucked her into my arms. Then, faster than Foo-foo herself could have hopped it, we were on our way.

  It’s not uncommon for scientists to work odd hours, so it was very possible that I’d encounter someone who’d stayed late. But as I strode through the corridors toward the little dead-end hallway with its mysterious elevator, I didn’t feel furtive. And my luck held: I met no one until I crossed the bridge above the mezzanine. There, however, I somehow caught the eye of the security guard sitting below the double-helix staircase at the reception desk.

  But it was fine. Keeping a firm hold on Foo-foo, I waved confidently at the guard and kept walking—and he waved back and returned to working his crossword puzzle.

  Finally, we arrived in the darkened Human Resources area, in the hallway facing the closed “utility room.” I fitted my access card into the slot and pulled the concealing door open. Then I stepped into the empty elevator and tried the key there as well, sliding it into the mechanism and pressing the button for the lower basement.

  Nothing happened. I leaned toward the control panel with concentration. I tried all sorts of different combinations, swiping the card first and pushing a button, and then the reverse. I even tried rubbing Foo-foo’s foot, for good luck. But the elevator doors stayed stubbornly open, and its panel buttons remained unlit.

  I would have to give up, at least for now. Still . . .

  “Listen, little rabbit Foo-foo,” I said. “There have to be stairs somewhere. Maybe I can find them if I study the plans Viv copied. We could try breaking in that way tomorrow.”

  Foo-foo didn’t say anything. But someone else did, from behind me.

  “Eli?” The voice was pitched high with astonishment. Foo-foo twitched strongly in my arms. But I had a firm grip, and after a couple of seconds, she subsided.

  I knew who it was. What I didn’t know was whether I was ready to cope. But there was no choice. I turned.

  Kayla Matheson was standing just outside the elevator, beautiful in white jeans and a black tank top. She looked at me and then at Foo-foo, and her mouth dropped open and stayed there.

  My heart was pounding now. I knew Foo-foo could feel it, and that it might alarm her, so I tucked my other arm around her and held her closely, warmly.

  Questions—What are you doing here? Where’s Dr. Wyatt? Are you going to tell on me?—flashed through my mind but then were gone, leaving behind the only real questions, the essential questions.

  Do you know about us? About you and me and how we came into this world? Do you know about my—our—mother?

  I realized that Kayla must have overheard what I’d said to Foo-foo about breaking in, but at that moment it didn’t matter at all.

  Once I got it working, my voice came out a little croaky. “Kayla, this is my pal Foo-foo Fourteen. Foo-foo, this is Kayla.”

  My sister.

  I didn’t say it, but I felt it. I felt it in the air between Kayla and me. Could she feel it, too? I didn’t know; couldn’t tell.

  Kayla seemed to have recovered from her surprise at seeing Foo-foo. “Am I wrong, Eli, or did you just say you wanted to break into the subbasement?” She didn’t look shocked or even disapproving.

  “Yes,” I said.

  She was silent for just long enough to make me think she - wasn’t going to say anything more. Then the strangest little smile distorted one corner of her mouth. “Funny. I was just going to try that myself.”

  And as astonishment filled me, Kayla held out one hand, and I saw that she was clutching a card key. “This one ought to work,” she said. “Because I stole it from Quincy this morning.”

  CHAPTER 35

  “IT’LL PROBABLY WORK, THEN,” I managed.

  Kayla stepped inside the elevator. “He thinks he mislaid it,” she said conversationally. She swiped the card into the slot on the control panel and the panel came alive instantly. The doors slid shut but the elevator remained stationary.

  Kayla reached past me and stabbed at the B5 button with her index finger. The elevator began to sink downward. “I have a very specific errand in the subbasement. In fact—” She glanced at me swiftly, half-questioningly. “I’m wondering if you might be a big help. You know a lot about databases, don’t you?”

  She had an errand involving computer databases? One she’d needed to steal the access key to accomplish? I was wary. No matter what Dr. Wyatt was up to, it would be a serious, almost evil, act for me to alter or destroy clinical data. That had been drummed into me. But maybe Kayla only wanted to look at something. That was different. Actually, whatever this data was, I wanted to examine it, too. Oh, yes, I did.

  And if she believed there was data in subbasement 5, then maybe there wasn’t anything—anybody—else down there. Data. I could live with data. I’d be delighted to find data.

  “I’m happy to see what I can do for you,” I temporized, adding, “I’m guessing you’ve been in the subbasement before ? You know what’s there?”

  “Oh, yeah. I got the official tour from Quincy last week.” Was there a bitter note in her voice? “What about you? When was your tour? And what’s your agenda today? Obviously, it’s covert, but you can tell me.”

  I looked at Kayla. “Actually, I haven’t had any tour, official or otherwise. And my agenda was just to look around. Covertly, I guess. So, what’s down here, anyway?”

  Kayla gasped. “You mean you don’t—” The elevator came to a stop and its door began to open. But Kayla slammed her hand onto the button that closed it again and stood so that her body blocked the control panel.

  “Sorry, Eli,” she said quietly. “In deciding to take you down here, I made an assumption I shouldn’t have made.”

  “What—” I began.

  “How much do you know?”
she cut in. Her eyes locked on mine and they went a little . . . well, desperate.

  I never had a thought of not telling her, but I found I could not watch her while I did. I stepped back and leaned against the opposite wall of the elevator. I held the quivering Foo-foo in my arms, and I looked down at the rabbit and stroked her while I talked.

  It gave us both some privacy.

  I told Kayla that I had only recently learned that Dr. Wyatt had assisted my mother in having a child without HD, and that I suspected he had also made some genetic-level changes to me. I told her about my Alice-in-Wonderland chase of Foo-foo to this hidden elevator.

  Then I told her that she was my mother’s child as well. I told her that my mother had given Dr. Wyatt her extra eggs; that this had been Dr. Wyatt’s price for helping her—and that my mother had paid it without concern. I said that I had not known—still did not know—how to assimilate that information.

  It didn’t actually take me very long to tell her all this.

  When I had finished, I raised my eyes and found that the desperation had seeped out of Kayla’s. She just looked tired. I hesitated, and then asked: “Have I told you anything you - didn’t already know?”

  She nodded. “I didn’t know who she was,” she said simply, and I knew she meant my—our—mother. “I knew what had happened, scientifically, before my birth; my parents told me a long time ago that there had been a donor egg—though my father seems to feel he is my genetic father. But I didn’t know my mother’s name or anything about her, and neither did my parents. That was one of the things I thought I would find out today. I was going to look for it in Quincy’s files. I never imagined . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  I couldn’t think of anything to say. I wondered why Dr. Wyatt hadn’t told Kayla at least some things about my—our—mother, considering that he’d felt comfortable in telling her so much. Comfortable enough to give her a tour of whatever he was doing in the basement. Comfortable enough to introduce her to me. Comfortable enough to tell me.

  Strange. But maybe he thought it didn’t matter to her? Maybe he’d promised her parents, the Mathesons, not to tell? Or maybe—could he have wanted me to tell her?

  Kayla said, “I can hardly believe it. I was at her memorial service.”

  I pulled my thoughts back to the present. “Yes. You know something? I’m glad you were there.”

  “Me, too,” said Kayla, but her voice was uncertain.

  I wanted more than anything to touch her, to hug her. To make contact somehow and let her know... something. Let her know I was there. But she was holding herself so straight. So separate. We were strangers.

  I blurted, “Would you like to hold the rabbit for a while? She’s, um, she’s sort of soft and warm.”

  Kayla looked at Foo-foo warily, but then said, “Oh. Okay.”

  As gently as if I were transferring an infant into another person’s arms, I handed the rabbit over to Kayla. I had to show Kayla how to hold her, but then Foo-foo settled in comfortably against Kayla’s breast, her nose pink as pink.

  “Huh,” said Kayla.

  “I’m getting pretty fond of Foo-foo,” I confessed.

  Was that a trace of a smile on Kayla’s face? “I wish I’d seen you chasing her.”

  “It was surreal,” I said.

  We watched each other. The atmosphere between us was awkward, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was just . . . new.

  “Well,” Kayla said, finally. “Let’s get out of this elevator now, okay? I’ll show you around down here. And I still want to look at Quincy’s computer. There’re some things . . .”

  “I’d appreciate that,” I said. “I’m obviously curious to see everything. Including the computer. And you’ll tell me what’s going on down here?”

  “Yes,” said Kayla. “What I know. Which is more than you do, but I’m still piecing things together also. Trying to figure out . . . decide . . . well. Just some stuff.” A troubled look passed over her face. She moved out of the way of the control panel, and I pressed the button to open the elevator door.

  As we emerged, Kayla cuddled Foo-foo a little more closely, and I saw her dip her head to brush her cheek against the rabbit’s warm, soft back.

  CHAPTER 36

  WE STOOD TOGETHER in a very small utilitarian hallway, and I instantly realized that this basement area must not stretch the full length and width of the building and basement levels above. In the hallway, we were confronted by three closed doors. They had no signs or labels, only numbers. 1. 2. 3.

  For some reason, that struck me as funny. “What’s behind door number one?” I said.

  Kayla wasn’t amused—but then, she’d been here before. “That’s the apartment. You should look at it, but I don’t want to waste much time there. The office is in two, and the exam room and lab in three, and they’re more important.”

  “Just an apartment?” I said. “We can skip it. The lab—”

  “No. You ought to see.” Kayla was hunching her shoulders. She slipped Dr. Wyatt’s card key into the slot next to the first door and put her hand on the knob, turning it when the mechanism unlocked the door.

  “Want me to take the rabbit?” I asked.

  “No.” She had both arms cradling Foo-foo again. She used her hip to nudge the door open and jerked her chin for me to follow her inside. I did.

  We had entered the living/dining area of a furnished apartment. There was plush off-white wall-to-wall carpet on the floor, and pale yellow paint on the walls. A sofa, love seat, and chair upholstered in denim were clustered around an oak coffee table in the living room area. Beyond them was a small oak dining table and chairs. Next to that, beyond a pass-through window, there was a kitchen with stainless steel appliances. On the walls hung framed art prints: the Picasso drawing of a hand holding flowers; “Doors of Boston”; a 1920’s poster reproduction advertising a cruise.

  It was a pleasant, neutral living space, with one anomaly: There were clear signs that one or more small children were expected and welcome. A tall bookshelf against one of the walls in the living room held bright red and yellow plastic containers of toys as well as a large collection of picture books. I spotted a rubber duck, a teddy bear, and a doll dressed like a pioneer girl. Lastly, beside the bookcase stood an enormous canister of Tinkertoys, which made me remember my first meeting with Dr. Wyatt.

  Without speaking, Kayla and I prowled, discovering a bathroom and two bedrooms. The first bedroom had a queen-sized bed, but the second was again furnished for young children, with sturdy bunk beds and more shelves of toys and games and books. A crib and bassinet stood in one corner. On the walls were children’s posters: Mickey Mouse and Oscar the Grouch and Sailor Moon and Barney.

  I looked at it all and knew that what my father had feared was true.

  Kayla was watching me.

  My voice was level when I spoke. “He made more of us, - didn’t he? More children like you and me. My—our—mother’s children.”

  “Yes,” said Kayla. “There are a few others now. Three toddlers. One baby.”

  I had thought I was ready to hear it, but I wasn’t. I turned abruptly and left the room. When I reached the living room, I found I had to sit down. I did, on the sofa.

  They must all be chimeras, I thought. That would have been the scientific lure that tempted Dr. Wyatt. He’d wanted to see if he could use transgenic technology successfully in humans. And Kayla, too, must be a chimera. My “dry run” theory no longer had much credibility. At least, I didn’t believe in it.

  Kayla had followed me to the living room. “Listen,” she said. “For the longest time, it was just me—um, and you. But then Quincy built this place. He told me the other day, when he showed it to me, that scientific techniques had improved. He had more certainty of success now, and so it was finally time. Before, he didn’t want to waste any of the—the material. The eggs. I guess he’d tried before, after you and me, and it - didn’t go well. He lost several . . . Well, he lost several.”

  I was wa
tching her, but I wasn’t really seeing her. I was seeing Dr. Wyatt.

  “He told me I was a miracle,” Kayla said. “A one-in-a-million. Beginner’s luck.”

  Her voice was impassive. I couldn’t tell what she thought.

  “Four new children,” I finally said. “And they visit this place for—for what?”

  “Quincy has a whole battery of tests and evaluations, both physical and psychological. They take several days to run through, because he doesn’t want the—the subject to be too stressed or anxious, and it’s best if it feels like a game. The environment should be as calm and controlled as possible—relaxing, homelike. Private, of course. With a nice calming adult nearby. The mother, if possible.”

  “The mother,” I repeated.

  “The adoptive mother,” Kayla clarified, unnecessarily.

  “Why does he test the—the children?” I asked. I was breathing more easily.

  “They’re just development tests. Intensive, but nothing - really weird.” Was Kayla’s gaze sharper now, as it rested on me? “Actually, I’m pretty sure you took his adult physical test battery yourself, Eli. The one I’ve been taking twice a year. He told me that he’d sent you over to Mass General Hospital before you started working here.”

  I frowned. “Yes . . . Judith Ryan—this woman in Human Resources—told me my employment was conditional upon a full physical exam.” And now I remembered telling Viv about the test; remembered her saying, offhandedly, that the garden shop hadn’t bothered even to ask her about her health, let alone send her for a physical.

  What a fool I had been.

  “Quincy was pretty excited,” Kayla was saying. “I think he’d considered you to be irretrievable data. At some point—mark my words—he’ll approach you about doing the full test suite.”