by Gwenda Bond
“God.” Terry’s stomach turned. Visions of dying bunnies bounced around in her head. Bop-Bop. Bop. “I think you should go. This trip is getting too intense.”
She picked up the Polaroids where he’d set them down and took them with her to the cot.
Brenner stayed where he was. “I will see you next week, Miss Ives. You don’t want to test my limits to hunt you down and bring you back.” He paused. “But oh, maybe you’re like the mother rabbit in this scenario…I know you’ll be back, because you won’t risk me punishing a child in your place.”
Terry refused to tell him he was right. He obviously knew it. “I said you can go,” she said.
Once he did, she flipped through each shot she’d taken on her precious Polaroid film. Blurry names and text that would be meaningless to anyone who hadn’t seen the full document. She’d ended up with nothing…
Except getting caught.
6.
There were men who considered themselves above Dr. Brenner, but who he privately thought of as his backers, his financiers, those he gave reports to rather than reported to…A crucial distinction.
The way to do great work was to do your own work. Once you started following someone else’s whims and compass, rot set in. Luckily for him, most of the crucial powerbrokers whose support he needed had rotted from the inside out long ago. Manipulating them was simple enough. People could lose the courage of their convictions so easily.
However…
The grousing security officer had raised some eyebrows after his reassignment, despite his admission he couldn’t bug a private garage. Several of the men wanted an update on the progress being made now that Brenner had been on the ground here for months.
And so he would extend an invitation for a demonstration to the director’s office. Kali would put on quite the show. She’d do anything to make him happy now, having been caught colluding with Terry Ives.
He kept waiting for the woman to realize the truth about her condition.
If Terry had designs that she might slip from under his thumb, well, surely she’d realize that wasn’t going to happen. Not with such valuable cargo.
7.
Terry wasn’t willing to give up. Brenner finding out she was searching for documents was bad. But on the van ride home, she had an idea.
So what if she didn’t have documentation yet? If her Polaroids were a bust? She could still invite someone to come investigate. They had to expose him to get Kali out. Brenner wasn’t the only one who could plan surprises.
When she got to the dorm, she asked for the phone book from the front desk and flipped to the section for the town closest to Hawkins. There, she found the name of a decent-sized newspaper and its phone number.
Then she waited in line behind the usual girls making their nightly calls to their boyfriends back home. Her fingers ached with anticipation as she guided the spiral dial around to each number, and then finally it began to ring.
“Newsroom,” a man answered, mid-yawn, three rings in.
“I— We wanted to give you a story idea,” Terry said. “I think it’d make a great piece. We have a brand-new director here at the Hawkins National Laboratory, with a history full of accolades. He’s working on some exciting, classified things…”
“Hawkins has a lab now?” the man asked.
“You won’t believe it.” Terry wound the cord around her hand and tried to keep from overselling what a great story this would be. The reporter was busy for the next two Thursdays. But the third Thursday? Sure, he’d be happy to come and meet this Dr. Martin Brenner, see what was going on next door.
Terry hung up with a grim smile on her lips.
1.
Bright morning light blasted in through the window of the dorm room.
“I don’t want to go, but I have to go.” Terry had her arm over her eyes, whining to Stacey. She’d been up for an hour, but getting in that van and trekking to the lab and into Brenner’s clutches again seemed impossible to face.
But she had to. She’d called the reporter back the day before, pretending to be from the lab, and confirmed he still intended to come. She told him to arrive at 10:30 a.m. on the dot and give Dr. Martin Brenner’s name to security. Now Terry felt nervous. Had she done something wise or something stupid?
She couldn’t say.
“Just blow it off like I did.” Stacey was busy doing three days’ worth of homework at a gulp, her usual method. How she’d fooled anyone into thinking she had average intelligence was beyond Terry—Stacey was obviously the smartest of all. She did what she wanted and got away with it.
Terry removed her arm from her eyes. Stacey’s side of the room was a riot of band posters and pages torn from magazines outlining makeup techniques. Terry was tidier, with a few family pictures in frames and a movie poster of Audrey Hepburn’s Sabrina her aunt had given her for a birthday when she was a teenager.
“I have a feeling the van would show up at the dorm and someone would force me into it,” Terry said.
“Are you becoming more paranoid or is it just me?” Stacey tossed the question over her shoulder and continued scratching away at her homework.
“I have reason.” Not that Stacey knew the half of it. Brenner had refused to elaborate on his pronouncement about a surprise this month. So far, there’d been nothing that counted as one and she hadn’t seen Kali again. The last two sessions had involved him grilling her about her past, so there was no way to go to the void. Dread was her constant companion.
“Yeah, all that LSD. I’m surprised you’re not permanently trippin’—maybe you are. Maybe that’s why you’re so paranoid.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Her paranoia had a name: Dr. Martin Brenner. She couldn’t blow the lab off. Kali might suffer. Gloria, Ken, and Alice were still on the hook and so was she. Brenner couldn’t be allowed to win.
We’re not allowing it.
“I’m not giving up,” Terry said, without moving.
“Good to know,” Stacey said, used to such proclamations. “If only you could’ve pep-talked Paul into staying with the band. It doesn’t seem fair to blame Yoko…but who else are people going to blame?”
The Beatles had decided to break up and kept it a secret until this week, when Paul made a big announcement about going solo.
“John supposedly was leaving first,” Terry pointed out. “They could blame him.”
“Yeah, right!” Stacey snorted. Then, “Oh! I forgot. You got a postcard from Andrew.”
Terry was off the bed like a shot. “You didn’t mention this yesterday?”
The mail came in the late afternoon, which meant the postcard had been here since the day before. It had a photo of the St. Louis Arch on it. Terry lightly whapped Stacey on the back of the head with it for good measure as she sat on the edge of the bed to read it.
Babe—
Promising beginning, she thought. Maybe he was already over this “let’s stay apart while I’m away” business.
Just wanted to drop a line from weekend furlough. And let you know that I leave tomorrow—I’ll make sure to get you an address to write to. I’ll call home when I can, and Mom made me promise to write every week. So you can get updates from her. I miss you. But I know we made the right decision.
I want you to live your life while I’m gone—think of me sometimes. I’ll be dreaming of you and settling down in the Shire. No Grey Havens for us.
All my love,
Andrew
Longing hit her, so strong it made her weak.
But then it helped her rally. Andrew was deploying to Vietnam, where he’d be fighting for his life and the lives of those around him. So, yes, she could get in a van with her friends and go face the monster who told stories about killing rabbits, like keeping children prisoner for experiments wa
s somehow less disturbing than that. She could fight for a better future than the one Alice saw.
It’s why you started this in the first place.
And she could definitely appreciate the shock on Brenner’s face when the reporter showed up. So she tucked the postcard into her purse—she wanted to keep it close to her—and touched a finger to the photo of her and Andrew together, grinning in bed, where she’d tucked it into the edge of the mirror on her side of the room. She had been sleeping better. While she’d hated the idea of not being officially together in the moment, if it helped her and Andrew get through this time, maybe he’d been right to suggest it. The distinction was slight. He was still in every beat of her heart.
“So you’re going?” Stacey asked.
“I’m going.”
“You might want to put on pants.”
“My brain is a mess.” Terry sighed. And her pants were all too tight lately. “I’ll wear a skirt.” She went to the wardrobe and swung open the door to paw through her options. There it was, long, flowy, and forgiving—perfect. She pulled it up over her hips. “Aren’t you going to ask what Andrew said?”
“Nah,” Stacey said. “I read it when I got the mail.”
Terry lunged at the bed to grab a pillow, then flung it at her giggling roommate. It all felt so normal, except of course for where she was headed.
2.
The men arrived in Hawkins early, a line of three black cars racing sunrise, perhaps believing they’d catch Dr. Brenner unprepared. He greeted them at the entrance. He hadn’t expected the director himself to come, and he didn’t know whether to take the man’s attendance as a positive or negative sign.
“Gentlemen, so glad you could make it,” he said, as if they weren’t three hours ahead of schedule. “Especially you, Jim. How was the trip from Langley?”
“Uneventful,” Jim answered, already looking over at the building, past Brenner.
A negative sign, then.
The director’s suit was dark and well-tailored, but Brenner had worn his best gray. It put the other man’s to shame. He recognized a few of the others in attendance from previous encounters at meetings and in base laboratories. Important, though not as important as the director.
“Well, that won’t be the case here.” Brenner led them in past the guard desk. Men like this didn’t sign in when they visited one of their top-secret investments—they preferred not to leave records of their movements. “I promise this will be the most exciting demonstration of your week.” He didn’t want to overpromise, though he’d almost gone ahead with “year.” Possibly even “life,” given that now he had the promise of Terry Ives’ baby in addition to Eight.
“Certainly the most expensive,” one of the men said. His shoes gleamed with polish and so did his hair.
“Achieving the extraordinary often requires an extraordinary cost,” Dr. Brenner said. “And you are?”
“My apologies. Bob Walker,” he said and didn’t extend his hand to shake.
Brenner nodded at him. Noted. He would pay attention to the director and this man. The others gave their names but they were obviously along for the ride, entourage as status indicator. The director never traveled solo these days. Brenner had heard stories of his wild field career, lines blurred and then obliterated, and he believed them. Seeing him in the company of bean-counters was a shame. Men of vision were increasingly rare.
He pressed the intercom and explained he was bringing back the day’s herd of VIPs. The doors buzzed and the soldiers posted as guards saluted the director.
“I wondered,” Bob Walker said, “if we might interview the rest of your executive staff about this…project and its costs.”
They weren’t here only because Brenner had invited them, he realized. They were here with the intention to end his work. Or at least this man was. What could his motive be?
Ah, yes.
“Did you serve with our former security officer by any chance?” Brenner asked.
“Yes, in a previous life. Good man.”
Mystery solved. “I’d be happy to answer whatever questions you have. The staff reports to me, after all,” Brenner said.
“We’d really like to speak with them directly. And meet some of your subjects. I understand you have children here?” Bob asked. “It doesn’t sound strictly aboveboard, if you’ll pardon my saying.”
“Now, now,” the director cut in. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“Yes.” Brenner breathed carefully to keep his face relaxed. “Jim knows the importance of this work better than anyone. He recruited me to oversee this installation personally.”
The director frowned, not liking to be reminded of that. Bob was taken aback for a second, too; he must not have known.
“Priorities can change,” the director said. “It just depends on the costs versus the benefits.”
Brenner smiled and imagined himself among sharks. No need to worry. He was one, too. “I couldn’t agree more.”
3.
Terry drummed her fingers on the van seat beside her. Ken had been five minutes late, and so when the van took the turn into Hawkins they were running behind schedule. But then she spotted the…scene up ahead at the guard booth and it took everything she had to keep a grin off her face. They pulled up short behind it.
The rest of them exchanged glances. She’d filled everyone in on her phone call.
Dr. Brenner marched across the parking lot to join the guard on duty, who was speaking to a man and a woman in a clunky old car of mysterious make, just in front of the van. Terry didn’t know how much reporters made, but she’d willingly place a bet this was her guy. The doctor placed his hands on his hips when he got to the guard, who said something to him. He hesitated, caught in a moment of indecision.
Terry had never seen Dr. Brenner show a hint of uncertainty. Her bet was that he wouldn’t risk embarrassment or raising more questions by turning them away. But she needed to do everything she could to ensure that.
Before anyone could stop her, she hooked her fingers in the van’s door handle and opened it. “What are you—” came the driver’s words behind her, but it was too late. She leaned up and out, standing on the running board.
“What’s up?” she called. “Is there a problem?”
The man in the car leaned his head out to look at her. She took that as a cue to leave the van.
The driver of the van started to follow, but Brenner raised a hand and he stayed put. When she reached the other car, the woman on the passenger side lifted a camera and clicked the shutter. Brenner’s hand was still up.
“Wait,” he said. “We haven’t granted permission for photographs.”
“It’s fine with me.” Terry was pushing it, but she couldn’t help herself. “Oh, except I guess: Who are you? What are the photographs for?”
She put a hand up to the neck of her flowy blouse to feign shyness. The man had a scruffy beard and sport jacket, the kind of rumpled look that fit her idea of a reporter. The photographer was younger, maybe Terry’s age or a couple of years older, in a T-shirt and cords.
“We’re from the Gazette,” the man said. “Here to do a story on the lab.”
“Are they doing a story on our experiment?” Terry asked in a surprised tone.
The reporter squinted.
Brenner’s lips pursed, then he relaxed. “Not as such; they say they’re here to do a profile on me. I must have gotten the wires crossed on my schedule. I’m afraid today’s not good.”
“Well, it’s fine with me,” Terry said with generosity. “I’m sure the others won’t mind.”
“I didn’t ask,” Dr. Brenner said. But he noticed the reporter’s speculative squint and relented.
“Give them a parking permit,” he ordered the security guard. “I’ll meet you all in the
lobby.”
And he hurried back inside.
Terry gave the journalists her best smile. “I can’t wait to see what you think of everything. I’ve been dying to know more about Dr. Brenner’s background. He’s fascinating.”
“Fascinating,” the reporter said, the way someone might say “jerk.” He reached past her to accept the parking pass from the guard.
She got back in the van, even though it was only to park.
* * *
—
They moved down the interior hallway in a clump, Dr. Brenner explaining that because of his busy schedule he’d be handing them off to a colleague named Dr. Parks. And that because of the sensitive nature of the facility and the research they’d have to get permission for any photos up front.
“Okay,” the photographer said, her hands still on the camera dangling from the strap around her neck. “How about one of you with these subjects?”
“I don’t have much time to give you.”
“We should change into our usual gowns,” Terry said. “So it looks accurate. We can do it right away.” She wanted visual evidence of all of them here, evidence of Brenner, too.
“We can make it fast to accommodate your schedule,” the photographer said.
A slight frown from Brenner and then, “Yes, of course.”
Terry enjoyed plunging Dr. Brenner into chaos. Now you know how it feels.
They were led to their usual rooms, where other staff waited. “You’re not to divulge any details of what we do here,” Dr. Parks told Terry, clearly on orders from Dr. Brenner. She left, presumably to deliver the same message to everyone else.
They all emerged in their gowns.
Brenner waited at the end of the hall with another woman in a gown Terry had never seen before. The reporter scribbled on his notepad while the photographer waved them into formation against the concrete walls.