by Marita Smith
Derek paused in his mental calculations. “You’re interested in my research?” Yeah, right. “Look, I don’t have any money on me.” Derek shifted from one foot to the other. It wasn’t that far to his apartment.
A rustling behind the woman made Derek look over not-Rebecca’s shoulder. A mass of cinnamon fur lurched out and the boy shuffled backward. Derek choked back a scream as he raised a hand to point at the animal.
A bear.
The boy ran a hand against the bear’s golden flank. The animal raised its head and sniffed the air with a twitching wet nose, as if it were a German Shepherd and Derek’s accusing finger was entirely uncalled for. Not-Rebecca stood only several yards in front, but she’d barely batted an eyelid.
Derek stared over his quivering finger. He’d seen bears before, but glimpses on the running trails outside the university didn’t compare to this. It came up to the boy’s shoulder, wide-set shoulders rippling as it shook its fur. Droplets of water flicked onto Derek’s clothes, carrying the earthy scent of humus and lichen. Wiping his face with his shirtsleeve, Derek chanced another glance sideways. Over 400 yards to home. He’s fast – hundreds of frustrated hours pounding the trails had made him springy. He had no doubt he could outrun not-Rebecca and the boy, but the bear was another story. The beast was calm now, but if he ran he might provoke it.
Maybe it’s a rescued animal. Derek’s brain whirred through scenarios, each more unlikely than the last. They’ve sprung it from a zoo. From a research lab. Russian circus.
I’m going to live for both of us, buddy. He’d never said it aloud to Damian, but it was true. According to all the gatekeepers in his life, Derek was doing a crappy job so far. Failed to get into medicine, hold onto a girlfriend, and now struggling to stay on the genetics PhD program. Damian was the only one who didn’t judge.
“What do you want?” Derek felt that still being on his feet was a good sign. The bear looked up at him with inquisitive green eyes.
Not-Rebecca took another step forward, arms wide as if calming a wild animal. Derek almost laughed. Like I am the crazy one in this scenario.
“We’re not going to hurt you. Please. Is there somewhere we can talk?”
Derek nodded. “Yeah.” What the hell. “This way.”
The side door buckled as Eva squeezed herself into Derek’s apartment. Reversing into the battered screen door, she wailed and hung her head. Fletcher twirled a hand in her fur and she quieted.
Fletcher shrugged at Robyn. “It’s not her fault, really.”
Robyn glanced toward the kitchen, where Derek stared into the illuminated depths of the refrigerator. She tripped over a box in the hallway as she leaned the twisted metal against the wall. Rubbing her throbbing foot, she catalogued its contents: books, half-full packet of tampons, a dress. Not Derek’s, then.
Fletcher bounded across to the sofa. “You play?” He held up a singlet with Smith emblazoned on the back, above the number 3. Robyn stepped over the box and emerged into the living room, then made a beeline for the kitchen.
Derek yanked a container out of the fridge and dumped it in the microwave. “Yeah.” Robyn smelled basil.
“Cool,” answered Fletcher. Eva stood motionless in the centre of the living room, sniffing the air. Leather polish and red wine were all Robyn picked up over the strong herby aroma – a far cry from the nursing home fug of her own apartment, furnished exclusively from Vinnies and the Salvos. Robyn wondered how many little old ladies had watched The Bold and the Beautiful from her mismatched couches, only to never get up again. She’d shell out for steam cleaning when she got back. Running and cleaning. She could do this.
Derek stared at Eva. Robyn wondered if he was high on something, letting them into his place and reheating dinner, as if this had been on his calendar for weeks. Nobody except Kara came to Robyn’s apartment, and even then only to drag Robyn out of it.
The least she could do was to introduce herself properly. “It’s Robyn.” She held out a hand to Derek.
He eyed her for a second before accepting the offer. Nope, the guy was with it. Just distant, closed off. His grip was firm.
“Derek, although you already seem to know that.”
An accusation. The microwave dinged, and Derek turned back to it. Tomatoey steam clouded the kitchen.
“Where are the plates?” Robyn asked, moving behind him. The smell of food clouded every other thought.
“Second drawer, by the sink.”
They matched. Robyn had never owned a matching set of anything in her life.
They ate in silence, the lasagne like manna after four days in the forest. Robyn closed her eyes, rolling the flavours around her tongue. Four days. Her eyes widened as she chewed her last mouthful. She needed to call Kara.
She rifled through her backpack and plugged her charger in. The mobile pinged back to life.
“I need to call somebody. I’ll be able to explain everything soon.” Robyn hoped so, anyway. “Fletcher, can you –”
“Yeah.” Fletcher stacked their plates. “I’ll give him the run down.”
“Kara.” Robyn brought her knees to her chest, tethered by the cord.
“Jesus, Robyn, you had us freaking out,” said Kara. “Where the hell are you? It’s been what, like five days?”
Robyn glanced up at Derek and Fletcher, deep in conversation at the sink.
“We made it to Derek. Look, I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out what’s going on. People have died, Kara, and I don’t have a clue why.”
“Brock. He’s not what he seems, Robyn. I know you think the sun shines out of his –” Kate’s voice. After a scuffle, Kara’s voice sounded on the line again.
“He’s part of some organisation tracking mitochondrial research all around the world. Tracking students like you, Robyn. Derek is the same. So are all those other students.”
Catherine. Terence. Xiaofang. The names she’d been repeating in her mind like a litany with each step through the woods.
“They’re using our research? That makes no sense. I’ve barely made any progress.” Robyn peeked over her shoulder at Derek, took in his hunched shoulders. Defeat, her constant friend. She knew what it felt like.
“Well, you’ve certainly got their attention now,” said Kara. “Be careful, Robyn.”
Robyn clicked on the link Kara had sent through. The Mitochondrial Research Institute. Robyn stared at the four faces. Derek is solemn even in his portrait, no teeth visible in his tight-lipped smile. Catherine, Terence, Xiaofang. How is it possible she’s linked to these people she’s never met? Robyn felt like ramming her fist into the plasterboard by her elbow. Instead, she got to her feet and politely asked to be directed to the bathroom.
The shower was heaven. Robyn moaned with pleasure as she worked the dirt and grease from her hair. Derek had laid out tracksuit pants and a clean t-shirt while the washing machine did its best with her soiled clothes. She watched the filthy water shuck and spin as she towelled herself dry with one of those thick bath sheets she’d always lingered over at Kmart. She had to give it to him, he was quiet, serious maybe, but the man had class.
Head clearer, she stopped outside the spare room, pushing the door ajar. Fletcher lay splayed across the bed, Eva curled up on the floor beside him. The door creaked as she closed it, but neither of them moved.
She found Derek sipping wine at the dining table, her chromatograms spread out in front of him.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he murmured, pouring her a glass. Too late, Robyn opened her mouth to stop him. She sniffed, took a sip, tried not to cough. “Neither have I.” She put the wine glass down. “Did Fletcher –”
“Yes, as well as he was able. It sounds ridiculous, yet …”
“Eva,” Robyn said.
Derek tapped the table top, eyes still on the data. “Yes, Eva.” Pushing his chair back, Derek strai
ghtened. Robyn tried another tentative sip of wine. Spluttering, she tipped the liquid into Derek’s glass, hoping he wouldn’t notice. She crossed her legs on the chair. The tracksuit pants fit well. Robyn wondered if they’d been missed when the box in the hallway was packed.
“I’m looking for mutations on specific genes, trying to figure out a way to screen for genetic anomalies.” Derek brought a laptop back to the table, took a long sip of his wine. “The key word is trying. My supervisor isn’t happy with my progress.”
“Supervisor/monitor, you mean.”
“Apparently.” Derek swivelled the laptop so they could both see the screen. “I’ve got partial maps of several mitochondrial gene mutations. Maybe your rogue compounds fit into this somehow.”
Robyn took in the 3D string of amino acids. “You’ve got access to a DNA sequencer?”
Derek nodded, still looking at the model. Robyn resisted the urge to whistle in appreciation. Derek would probably think it juvenile.
“We need to figure this out,” said Robyn. “They’re willing to kill for whatever it is, Derek.” Robyn’s headache flared back to life. “Why us? I just don’t get it. I haven’t found anything until now, and it’s not like I understand it.”
“Don’t worry, you’re in good company.” Derek closed his laptop and cupped his chin with a sigh.
Robyn noticed the dark circles under his eyes.
“Fletcher and Eva seem to be part of it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to figure out what makes such a bond possible? If this group get their hands on them, who knows what they could do with their DNA.”
Robyn baulked.
“They could figure out a way to make others like him. Can you imagine having the power to control living creatures? A lot of people would pay for the privilege, not all of them good.” Derek sighed. “You concentrate on finding these other students. I’ll see what I can do in the lab without drawing suspicion.”
“Thank you,” Robyn said. Her head spun. This was insane. The safe bubble of her lab routines felt like a distant memory.
Derek shook his head. “I haven’t done anything yet, so there’s no point thanking me. I might not be any use at all.”
“I get this feeling that you’re going to help us, though.” Robyn toyed with the stem of her empty wineglass. “Why?”
Derek drank some more wine, frowning at the full glass. “My research … I can’t do it on my own. Maybe with all of us, we can work it out. Solve the puzzle.”
Robyn yawned. “Okay.” She could sense the half-truth despite the tiredness that clouded her mind.
Derek tipped his head toward the hall. “My room is the first one on the left. It’s yours.”
“No, I couldn’t possibly –” Robyn began.
“I insist.”
Robyn collapsed into bed and wrapped herself in the down duvet. It smelled of aniseed. Derek, it smelled like Derek.
The aroma of eggs lured Robyn out of her liquorice den. In the daylight, Derek’s room was even more minimalist than she’d imagined. Sleek cabinets, monochrome everything. Robyn couldn’t help opening the wardrobe and running a hand along the hangers. Organised by colour and season, a spectrum of long shirts to casual tees. Ironed, too. Feeling guilty, she pushed the doors shut. The iron her mother had bought her in first year still lingered in its original packaging at the back of her closet.
When she emerged, Fletcher was demolishing a plate of eggs at the table. Robyn smelled buttered toast.
“Morning,” she said. “Nice outfit.”
Fletcher lifted the edge of the basketball singlet. “Derek let me borrow some stuff.”
Derek carried over two laden plates. He planted one in front of Robyn and grinned at her expression. “And I thought you’d both appreciate a proper breakfast.”
Robyn nodded her agreement as she forked a hunk of herby scrambled egg into her mouth. In the kitchen, Eva eyed a frozen packet of fish with interest. Derek followed Robyn’s gaze.
“I’ll pick up supplies today,” he promised. “I’m not really stocked for bear visitors.”
Robyn put down her fork. “Are you sure … I mean, we could find somewhere else to stay.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay here.” Derek took a bite of toast.
“You don’t even know us,” Robyn said.
Derek didn’t say anything as he sliced his omelette. “Not yet,” he said as he brought a wedge to his mouth. “Though apparently we’re stuck with the same group, this MRI. That makes us comrades-in-arms, at least.”
Eva wailed from the kitchen, pawing the Styrofoam container. The fish slid further down the counter.
“Yeah, I just can’t imagine my supervisor being in on this,” said Robyn. Fletcher got up from the table and chucked the fish in the microwave. Eva snorted her approval.
“My supervisor can be a pushy moron, but he’s smart.” Derek pointed his fork at her. “I’m going to have to be careful in the lab. They must know about you now.”
“Going rogue? I guess so.” Robyn sighed and rubbed her temples. She’d never been the misbehaving type. The Goody-two-shoes Scarecrow. Rogue researcher didn’t fit the mould.
Derek jerked his head toward the living room. “Your clothes are clean.” Robyn tilted in her chair to take in the washing basket of neatly folded clothes. When she turned her attention back to her plate, Derek was hoovering up the last of his breakfast. Had Derek folded her underwear too? The thought made her blush.
“I better get to work.” Derek dumped his plate in the sink just as the microwave dinged. Eva lunged forward, snapping at the fish and wolfing it down in two huge bites. She nuzzled the microwave for more, then huffed and turned back to the living room.
“One rule,” said Derek, holding up his hand. “No bears on the couch.”
Eva moaned and curled up on the carpet.
10
Catherine
Robyn stepped off the bus with a grateful sigh, even though the freezing air took her breath away. The overnight Greyhound bus had been an experience. Her neighbour had flicked peanut shells onto her lap for at least four hours. Robyn dusted her hands through her hair as a guy encased in a hood threw her a weird look. She sighed as she flicked the brown shell onto the pavement. Figures.
Pulling out her phone, Robyn checked the address for the sixth time. Snippets of French swirled in the air above the crush of people. If only she’d paid more attention in French class. After the New Caledonia trip had been cancelled, she hadn’t really cared about her proficiency. The near-deaf teacher would nod if you could pull off an accent-tinged sentence in English. Robyn nearly crossed herself at the memory.
A cloud of pot smoke hit her as she passed Mount Royal. It seemed out of place here, Montreal only just emerging from winter. She imagined a knot of kids hunched over a joint, stamping their feet against the cold. Robyn uncreased the map and oriented herself. Her shitty French wouldn’t be any use here. She hoped that Catherine could speak English, and that she wasn’t a pothead.
Peering at the numbers on the door, Robyn bumped into a blonde-haired girl. 32–38, 40–46.
“Sorry,” Robyn said.
The girl jangled her keys, found the one she was looking for. She tucked a stray strand behind her ear. “That’s okay.” She looked up. “Who are you after?”
“Catherine Heather.”
The girl froze. “Pardon?”
“She’s a PhD student at McGill,” Robyn continued.
“I know.” The girl turned to face Robyn. “I’m Catherine. Who the hell are you?”
Robyn faltered. “It’s a lot to explain. Do you mind if I come up?”
Catherine didn’t say anything for a long moment. Robyn blushed as Catherine stared at her. She was a good foot taller than Robyn and a mess of bracelets ran up her left arm. Carved wood and jade.
Catherine sighed
and turned the key. “Fine.”
Robyn swirled her mint tea, admiring the tessellated pattern on the rose-coloured glass. She’d never attempted a pilaf before, never mind one stuffed with pistachios and hunks of grilled eggplant. Every time Robyn bought eggplant from the co-op, it moulded in the fridge before she could figure out what to do with it. A big slimy mess in the vegetable drawer, mocking her.
Catherine sipped her tea, eyes clouded with thought. Robyn’s chromatograms were certainly clocking up some miles. A photo of Derek, Fletcher and Eva in Derek’s living room had now joined the collection. The carpet was a jagged, ripped mess courtesy of Eva’s claws, something Photoshop couldn’t superimpose.
Catherine’s focus was gene therapy targets, mutations involved in energy metabolism. It was more chemistry than biology, so they spoke a common language – as well as English, thank God. Drug use still to be determined. The apartment was filled with bright tapestries, and stacks of books covered every surface. It reminded her of a gypsy caravan but stuffed into four walls high above the street.
Catherine shifted in her seat and her knees brushed Robyn’s under the tiny table. “Sorry, I don’t entertain much up here,” she said, gesturing to the kitchen. “Especially strangers claiming my research is being directed by an international group of bad guys.” Catherine pushed the photo toward Robyn. “And you say there are more of these children?”
Robyn nodded. She can’t say, Yeah, Fletcher totally had a dream about it. For some reason, it seemed right. Like she’d always known there would be more. Robyn snuffed out the thought as Catherine’s eyes bore into hers. Teal. Not quite green, not quite blue. The colour of the sea as a storm breaks.
“I’ll keep my eyes open, but that’s really all I can do.” Catherine slid her phone across the table. “I’ll let you know if anything unusual happens, or if I hear anything that could be helpful.” Robyn typed in her number and was about to pass the phone back when it vibrated in her hand. Sophie, incoming call.