by Sara Saedi
Wylie expected Maz to hurl punches at Phinn. Instead, Maz only embraced Lola tighter. It was no easy feat to direct your energy on the person you loved instead of the person you hated. But Maz was better than most people.
“You hurt people, Phinn,” Hopper finally spoke up. “It’s the only thing you’re good at.”
“I have a lot of regrets,” Phinn admitted. “But I don’t regret what I did to you.”
Wylie watched as Hopper threw his whole body at Phinn and repeatedly punched him with both fists. A mist of blood sprayed from Phinn’s face and the BioLark staff finally intervened and pulled Hopper away. Wylie half expected to see Aldo and Patrick rush to his side and tend to his wounds, but they didn’t go near him.
“I guess we’ll have to keep you two separated,” Olivia declared. “Let’s call it a night and see how we all feel in the morning. I’ll show you to your bungalows.”
Space was limited in the bungalows, which meant Olivia had to reconsider their sleeping arrangements. Maz didn’t want to be anywhere near Phinn, so he was given a room to share with Lola. When it became clear that the Daltons wanted to stick together, Tinka volunteered to take one for the team and room with Phinn. At first, Wylie expected Micah to succumb to a panic attack, but he wasn’t the least bit concerned.
“I trust her,” he told Wylie.
Hopper was the only one left without a place to sleep, but Bandit stepped forward and offered his room.
“It’s the least I can do after everything we put you through,” Bandit said.
The Daltons’ bungalow had two bunk beds and a single bed. Wylie pulled rank as the oldest and called dibs on the single bed. Joshua and Micah arm-wrestled for the top bunk and Joshua won. It all felt so normal. Wylie wanted to ask Joshua what they could expect from this place, but he seemed so relaxed and happy that she didn’t want to spoil the moment. They could make believe they were in Montauk, huddled in their vacation home, complaining and comparing notes about all the annoying things their parents had done that day.
It felt weird to lie back in bed and look up at a ceiling made of plaster and paint. Wylie instantly felt claustrophobic not getting to see stars like on Hopper’s boat or the palm fronds of the island.
“It’s awful here,” Joshua whispered once the lights were off.
“I can’t wait to go home,” Micah said.
“Where is home?” Wylie asked.
“The island,” Micah replied. “And not the one with the crowded subway stations and monster skyscrapers and parents who make each other unhappy.”
Joshua rolled onto his side and mumbled:
“Home doesn’t exist anymore.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
the next generation
the first few days at BioLark were surprisingly bearable. Wylie smiled through the tests and drug trials, and expertly played the role of resident optimist. No silver linings went undetected and no glasses were half empty in her presence. She would have gladly tap danced and broken out in song if she thought it would get Joshua, or anyone else, out of their funk.
But by day four, something shifted. As her mood began to nosedive, bright sides and pep talks became a ludicrous notion. It could have been the heavy dose of medication or the slow death of her taste buds, but once day fourteen rolled around, Wylie officially displayed all the symptoms of a deep depression.
It didn’t help that Dr. Jay had essentially ghosted them. He was real, she had to remind herself. Dr. Jay wasn’t a figment of Wylie’s imagination. He was the person who made good on his promise to take them to BioLark. Wylie had to mentally recount these details and facts every day. Between the pills, the regimented flights, the hormone injections, and the nurses walking into their bungalow at all hours of the night to draw blood and record their temperatures, it was getting harder to remember who was who and what was what.
“You remember Dr. Jay, right?” she asked Micah each morning.
“Yes, Wylie. I remember him. You’re not going crazy.”
Then where the hell was he? Two weeks had gone by since he’d guided them through the maple-scented woods and into the lion’s den. He’d never warned them that he’d disappear once they were posing as patients. They’d been told they’d see him every day. He was supposed to find access to the tunnels that would set them free and get them home.
Unless it was all a ruse. Dr. Jay just needed to escape an island that wanted him dead and he manipulated the kids into bringing him here. Wylie had led her friends astray. The worst thing anyone, including her, could do was trust her judgment.
“How are you feeling today, Dalton?” Hopper asked, as she took a seat across from him at breakfast.
Terrible, lost, alone, angry, tired, defeated, scared, anxious.
“I feel fine, Hops,” Wylie answered.
Lately, she’d been preoccupied with the memory of the night Phinn first took her to the parvaz field. She remembered how the lush scenery and salty air made her feel brave enough to open up to him about the accident in the Hamptons. As they sat beneath the willow tree together, she was overwhelmed by Phinn’s support. He’d known her at her worst, and he didn’t bolt.
But she’d been wrong about the first part of that equation. Aside from that night, Phinn had always seen Wylie at her best. In the early days on the island, she was brimming with joy. She took pleasure in cooking food and tending to the garden. She stared at every new herb and plant with unadulterated wonder. She kissed passionately and forgave easily. Ignorance was truly bliss.
It was Hopper who’d seen Wylie at her worst. She didn’t smile as much anymore. She was irritable and short-tempered and tired all the time. The foods here made her stomach expand and constrict in ways that made her think her insides were riddled with ulcers. The sheer sight of the nurses and orderlies made her blood pressure rise like mercury measuring a fever. Every morning she woke up wondering if the burns and cuts on her back would ever heal. According to Olivia, drug trials took years to complete, and they still hadn’t figured out what kept Minor Island residents in a permanent state of teenhood. Every day they were here was another day closer to their eighteenth birthdays. Before long, living on the island wouldn’t even be an option.
“You don’t seem fine,” Hopper said, taking a bite of his processed cereal.
He chose his words carefully these days. Hopper knew from experience that one wrong comment could set Wylie off. Sometimes Wylie felt smothered by the pressure to be okay around him. The guy who’d been stoic and withdrawn when they’d met was now the keeper of perspective.
“Just remember that we’ve been through worse,” he pointed out.
Wylie wasn’t so sure. She’d rather be in a jail cell on the island than trapped in a prison by someone who pretended she was using them to make the world a better place. And she couldn’t say a word about it. At BioLark, the punishment always far outweighed the crime. Maybe they’d wean her off rahat flowers so she could feel every pinprick and razor’s edge during the pain tests. Or they’d double the dose of parvaz and force her to fly for twenty-four hours without breaks. So Wylie’s hateful tirades remained where they were safe: inside her head. It was the only place BioLark couldn’t listen.
Olivia Weckler is a sad old lady who will die alone.
That particular mantra helped her survive the “therapy” appointments with Olivia. Sometimes she used variations on the same theme. Olivia is a sad old lady whom no one loves. Olivia is a sad old lady who has no life. If she repeated the mantras over and over again, it was much easier to bite her tongue for the entirety of the session.
“It’s impolite not to talk, Wylie,” Olivia would scold. “I helped your dad get his life together on the mainland. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have been born.”
It was strange putting the true pieces of her dad’s life together. Between Olivia’s stories and the anecdotes her friends shared from the is
land, Wylie realized that she’d been raised by a stranger. She was impressed with her dad, though. He could have turned out like Dr. Weckler, but Gregory had managed the impossible. He’d lived on the island, left on his own accord, and then moved on with his life.
“Are you even listening to me, Dalton?” Hopper asked, waving a hand in her face. “Are you gonna be okay today?”
“I’ll be fine once I have some parvaz in my system,” was the most cordial response she could give.
The daily flights were the only part of the days at BioLark that Wylie looked forward to. Some hated being dosed with parvaz for such a long period of time, but Wylie used the opportunity to clear her muddled mind. It was good exercise to kick her legs and flap her arms. The muscles in her body were getting firm and it was nice to know she was strong on the outside when she felt so weak on the inside. The natural endorphins were probably keeping her alive. She hated that Nurse Conway slowed her down every thirty minutes to take her pulse and swab the sweat off her forehead. But today the interruption gave Lola a chance to catch up to her.
“I need to talk to you,” Lola said. “But you have to slow down.”
“What’s wrong?” Wylie asked.
Lola’s chin quivered and her shoulders collapsed in heavy sobs.
“I thought I was fine until you asked me what was wrong,” she said.
They weren’t allowed to take breaks, but Wylie didn’t care. She held on to Lola’s hand and they perched themselves at the top of a plastic palm tree. It swayed under their weight, not as sturdy as the real thing. A cool breeze swept over them. Wylie thought the wind was picking up until she spotted a fan oscillating on the wall.
“Dr. Weckler showed me the results of my blood work,” Lola said.
What was wrong with the universe? If Wylie was about to find out that her best friend was terminally ill, she would lose the little faith she had left in the world. Lola leaned in and whispered:
“I’m pregnant.”
“How?” Wylie asked.
Lola confessed that the pregnancy wasn’t an accident and that she was four months along. She’d been puking for months after every birth control ritual to remove the pill from her system. It was Maz who’d first brought up the idea of a baby, but she’d quickly agreed it was something she wanted to do. Lola hated the idea of her tribe dying out with her, but beyond that, she had wanted to get exiled. Eager to discover life on the mainland, she’d seen a pregnancy as the perfect exit strategy.
“Now that I’m here, though,” Lola said, “All I want is to have this baby back home. I won’t let Olivia treat my pregnancy like a science experiment. I want my kid to have a childhood like the one I did, filled with doggy paddles in the lagoon and somersaults in midair. I want my baby to grow up on the real island, and not in a place where they’ll be treated like some freak of nature.”
Lola’s eyes lit up when she talked about having a child. Wylie tried to offer words of encouragement, but she didn’t know the first thing about motherhood. Lola seemed so much older and more sophisticated than Wylie now. And she was. They may have looked the same age, but Lola had been on this earth for far longer.
Wylie tried to imagine what she would be like as a mom. The island was its own corner of paradise, but like Lola, she liked to think her future progeny could share her childhood experiences. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, frozen hot chocolates at Serendipity, and snow angels on ski trips topped the list.
“Olivia said I’ll be able to feel the baby move in a couple weeks. I already feel so protective. I already feel like I can’t live without this creature growing inside me.”
Wylie’s mom had made a similar comment once. It was after their parents announced they were getting divorced and Micah and Wylie had to decide which parent they wanted to live with. Joshua used to joke that he was the lucky one who got to go to juvie. One night, when Wylie had stayed up way too late baking cookies for her basketball team, Maura simply looked at her and said: “I can’t live without you.” But Wylie couldn’t tell if the admission was motivated by unconditional love or if Maura just wanted to win.
“Can I touch it?” Wylie asked. Lola nodded and placed Wylie’s hands on her abdomen. She could feel Lola’s formerly innie belly button poking out through her shirt. Her stomach was more taut than Wylie expected, and had protruded into the size of a volleyball. If their scrubs were more fitted, than everyone would have noticed the pregnancy.
“I hope it’s a girl,” Lola said.
“Me too,” Wylie answered.
Olivia wanted to find a way to make people young again. She wanted to find a way to make herself young again. The teenagers in her care didn’t seem to be providing any leads on that front. The island was too dangerous to explore. But a baby was a game changer. Especially one with the blood of a Minor Island native. The pregnancy was a blessing for Maz and Lola, but it was also a windfall for BioLark.
They could no longer bide their time for Dr. Jay to return, Wylie realized. They’d have to find the tunnels on their own. Before Wylie took her palms off Lola’s belly, she made a silent promise to the baby growing inside:
I’m going to get you home safe and sound, little one.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
suicide watch
phinn was happy today. Euphoric, even. Nothing would bother him. When Nurse Conway banged on the door and ordered him and Tinka to get up for breakfast, he leapt out of bed. He was excited to feast on his bowl of instant oatmeal without being forced to make conversation with anyone. If he got changed quickly enough, he’d even get to see the fake sunrise on his way to the dining hall. This time, when Tinka declared that it was “day fifteen of the Everyone Wants Phinn to Die show,” he was able to laugh off the comment. The dig had previously left him feeling forlorn, but today, it was hilarious. Especially the way Tinka made a fist and pretended to blow into a trumpet before she said it.
“You’re laughing,” Tinka observed.
“I am!” Phinn replied. “It’s funny, because it’s true.”
He changed into a fresh pair of scrubs with no concern that Tinka could see him naked. Modesty was unnecessary in her presence. Especially not today of all days.
“Thanks, Tinka,” he said before leaving the bungalow.
“For what?” she asked.
“For being such a good friend to me.”
“We’re not friends, Phinn.”
“We were for fifty years or so.”
The orange juice tasted different at breakfast. Phinn concentrated on the tart flavor as it pierced his taste buds and trickled down his throat. So what if it wasn’t freshly squeezed? It came in adorable little cartons and raised his blood sugar to a comfortable level. He didn’t mind that at the other tables, the kids were whispering among themselves. For once, he didn’t look down at his bowl of oatmeal like it was the most fascinating display of grain he’d ever seen. He looked right at his former friends. There was plenty of misery to go around. The smiles among them were forced and half-hearted. Bandit especially looked withdrawn and sad this morning.
Despite their predicament, Phinn could hear them trying to keep each other’s spirits up by recounting stories from the island. On this particular morning, Wylie’s laughter rang out louder than anyone else’s. It had been a long time since Phinn had heard it. If Phinn could put the sound of her laugh on a loop and listen to it all day, he would. He watched as she giggled and simultaneously cringed at a story Maz shared from when her dad lived on the island. Phinn privately smiled at the memory. They’d been at Olivia’s residency party when an intoxicated Gregory had decided to strip off his clothes and fly in the nude. Phinn nearly interjected when Maz left out the most important detail of the night. Gregory needed to take a piss, but didn’t have enough time to land before he relieved himself. The party had abruptly ended with several kids jumping in the lagoon to rinse urine out of their hair. It was too bad Wy
lie would never hear that part of the story.
Phinn only got to observe Wylie’s behavior from a distance, but this morning, she seemed like she’d turned a corner in her depression. Phinn noticed a goofy grin on Hopper’s face at the sight of Wylie’s smile. He recognized the twinkle in Hopper’s eye, the flush of his cheeks, and the way he kept staring when Wylie was no longer paying attention to him. He was in love. Who could blame him? Phinn certainly couldn’t.
When they waited in line for the day’s cocktail of drugs, Phinn didn’t gag as he placed the flowers—now in pill form—on his tongue. He didn’t ask Nurse Conway how he was able to live with himself. He didn’t even spit the pills across the room. Instead, he smiled as he swallowed them and graciously thanked Olivia for keeping them properly medicated.
“Drugs are tropic!” he declared, raising both of his arms in the air.
The comment was either met with silent glares or vocal insults. But neither came from Maz. His best friend had mastered the art of pretending Phinn didn’t exist. Soon, that would be even easier.
For Phinn, the hours of flying between the plastic shrubbery and the planetarium-like sky felt much shorter than usual. Time flies when you’re running out of it, Phinn thought to himself. He didn’t even complain as an orderly hooked him up to a heart monitor and a nurse used electrical currents to test his pain threshold. Nothing would hurt today. Not even Olivia’s tired line of questioning.
“How did your parents kill themselves, Phinn?” Olivia asked, like she always did in their evening therapy session. The question had been framed a hundred different ways, but Phinn never had the will to answer.
“Adults are supposed to be reliable, aren’t they?” she goaded. “Parents are supposed to be reliable.”
Phinn nodded. Olivia had been brought into the world by wealthy socialites who paraded her around at parties but otherwise ignored her presence. Even as children, Phinn and Olivia had known that adults failed at being wiser than them. That their parents didn’t shield them from ugly truths that would eventually reveal themselves as they grew older. Truths like the fact that dreams weren’t always realized. That your every whim would be ruled by the balance of your bank account. And that people you loved wouldn’t always love you back, and even when they did, they could still die.