Evolution

by Hope Anika

  Ruslan slid her a look, but said nothing. Instead, he pulled the newspaper clippings the envelope had contained toward him and spread them out on the table.

  Ash set the picture of PN4 down beside her.

  “We should keep that with the file,” Ruslan said.

  She ignored him.

  “Ashling.”

  She pulled one of the newspaper clippings close. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Call me Ashling.”

  Ruslan blinked. “Because it is your name.”

  “No,” she told him and focused on the articles. “It is not. My name is Ash.”

  Renowned Geneticist Killed in Boat Explosion.

  No Foul Play in Crystal Lake Deaths.

  Faulty Propane Heater to Blame for Death of Geneticist.

  Accident on Crystal Lake Kills Family—

  “Look,” she said, pulling the last article toward her.

  A smiling, happy family of three stared at her. They stood on an old wooden dock, a vast, still expanse of blue-green water behind them. Overhead, the sun glowed pale gold from within a sky of the purest azure blue. The man—tall, his hair ruffled by the wind, that game show host smile in place—a woman with pale hair and light eyes, too thin, her smile gentle—sad—and a young girl, raven-haired and exquisitely beautiful, her eyes glowing the same amber as the sun overhead, her smile mischievous and inviting.

  Eva Pierce.

  Grant had his arm around both his wife—Loren—and Eva; he looked proud and protective. Below the photo, the text read: Anson Grant (left) and his wife Loren (right) with their daughter Evangeline (front) the morning of the explosion.

  “Anson and Loren’s bodies were the only ones recovered,” Ruslan noted. “It is presumed that Evangeline died as well, although her remains were never found.”

  Ash stared at the smile on Eva’s face: joy. She was loved, and she knew it.

  “Perhaps she was not on board,” he said.

  “Or she was taken off before it blew,” Ash replied. “What are the odds it really was an accident?”

  “Incalculable. Without direct access to the forensic evidence, we have no way to determine that probability.”

  He was such a literalist. “So where does Joe Pierce fit into this picture? Clearly, he isn’t her father.”

  Ruslan said nothing. He reached for the leather-bound book and opened it.

  “A journal,” he said, paging through it. “Belonging to Anson Grant.”

  Ash watched him, dark, heavy dread slowly sliding through her veins. This was a frigging mess. From beginning to end. A tale that got deeper and darker the further they went. A tangled ball of bad, bad shit they were going to have to unravel.

  Because there was no bowing out. Not now.

  Ruslan began to read. “‘Einstein said: Try not to become a man of success, but rather try to become a man of value. It took me too many years to understand this. Too many lives. The cost of my ignorance is something I’ll someday pay; even as a man of science I recognize there will be consequences for what I’ve done. What goes around, as they say, comes around.”

  His voice was deep and resonate, in spite of its lack of inflection. Ash leaned back in her chair, stared up at the ceiling and listened.

  “I have many regrets, but what’s chronicled here isn’t one of them. Perhaps it should be; very few of the sacrifices which brought about this journey have been my own. But when you watch both of your children die slow, horrific deaths from a disease it’s within your reach to cure, any sacrifice is acceptable, even those that aren’t your own.”

  “Especially those,” Ash muttered.

  Ruslan continued, “I was terminated from GenTek months ago, but I’d abandoned the company—and the Primary Design Project—long before that. Part of me now agrees with Reggie: there are limits, not to what we can do, but to what we should do. What we watched manifest within the Primaries as they grew was something we neither intended nor understood, and when we were forced to terminate PN4, I began to see we’d meddled in something we didn’t even have the ability to comprehend, let alone control. That poor child deserved better from us. When PN7 was finally terminated, I understood how far we’d overstepped our bounds. By then Reggie was already preaching his zealotry about the consequences of the Project, and Bethany was advocating for the production of half a dozen more Primaries, convinced we merely needed to rework the Principal. But I knew better. I knew we’d crossed a line, and there was no going back.”

  “Only two dead children later,” Ash noted darkly.

  “One would think that knowledge alone would’ve stopped me, but it didn’t. Two terminations out of twelve embryos was less than a seventeen percent failure rate, which everything considered, was a manageable number. The odds I would be able to produce a Primary without the violent tendencies displayed by PN4 and PN7 were in my favor. And although I knew there would be other unpredictable manifestations—like those we’d witnessed in nearly all of the Primaries—I felt the risk was worth the reward. To see a baby in Loren’s arms once more—one who we would not lose within the first year of life to Patau Syndrome—was worth pretty much any outcome.”

  Ruslan fell silent, staring down at the book he held.

  “It just keeps getting better and better,” Ash muttered. “Like we won the mad scientist jackpot.”

  “‘Unpredictable manifestations,’” he repeated, and something in his voice—in his tone—made her turn and look at him.

  “What?” she asked, watching him closely, because for the first time since she’d clapped eyes on him nearly a month ago, he seemed...ruffled. His brows were drawn low over the pale glitter of his eyes, his mouth was hard. In his jaw, a muscle pulsed with uncharacteristic force.

  But he didn’t respond. He only continued to read. “I designed Primary No. 13—our Evangeline—utilizing everything we’d learned with the first twelve embryos. Both donors were rigorously screened, and I was very, very careful to keep her quarantined. I told no one of her existence. Loren began the preparation of her body for the in-vitro procedure, and when we were ready, I smuggled Evangeline out of GI, drove her home, and implanted her in Loren. Once I was certain the embryo had successfully established, I destroyed all of the Primary Design Project files I could get my hands on, including my own. I didn’t want to; the work we’d done was invaluable. The lives lost in the search for that knowledge demanded it live on, but I no longer trusted Bethany, or the Company. We’d already created two monsters—and ten other beings that weren’t what we believed them to be—there certainly didn’t need to be any more. Of course, I had no control over the records amassed privately by either Reggie or Bethany—and Bethany, I’m certain, had a complete copy of the Company file long before I destroyed it. But I did what little I could to undo what we’d done.”

  “Like trying to put the lid back on Pandora’s Box,” Ash mused.

  “We relocated to Italy until Evangeline was born. I provided much of Loren’s obstetrical care—we wanted no medical records that could be obtained by the Company—and we were careful to keep to ourselves. Evangeline was born naturally in our small villa, a healthy, beautiful baby girl with whom Loren and I instantly fell in love.

  For five years, we’ve raised Evangeline here in Italy, and she’s thrived. She’s evolved past all of the other Primaries; at age five, she is reading college-level textbooks, playing the violin, piano and a harmonica Loren inherited from her grandfather. Her conversations are intelligent and highly perceptive, and she appears to have an almost eidetic memory. She learns in real time, with no need to be told anything twice. She loves animals, and she has a strong sense of empathy for those around her. She is a loving, joyful child, and when I look at her, I know the choice I’ve made is the right one.

  I’ve heard nothing from the Company, Reggie or Bethany Little. I can only hope that is a sign I’ve been abandoned and forgotten, and that no one has any knowledge of Eva’s existence—or her origin. We have r
ecently gotten word that Loren’s mother is terminally ill, so we have decided to return to Las Vegas, at least temporarily. I’m uneasy at the thought of returning to the city that is the Company’s base, but I can’t ask Loren to abandon her mother, and I would like Evangeline to meet her grandmother. We’ll leave at the end of the month.”

  Ruslan turned another page. “We arrived in Las Vegas this morning to find that Loren’s mother Addie is very, very ill. It’s unlikely she will make it through the week, and I’m glad we’ve returned. Loren is spending every moment she can with her. We’ve not yet introduced Evangeline to Addie. Death is not something we’ve yet had to explain, and I find I dread doing so. But Addie is dying, and there will be no escaping her passing. It is a subject we will have to tackle, no matter our grief.”

  Another page. “This morning Evangeline met her grandmother, and what transpired in that meeting is something I can only consider miraculous. All of the other Primaries displayed traits we didn’t understand, and I knew the probability of her displaying something similar was likely. Most of those traits appeared elemental in nature, and we determined that the abilities the Primaries manifested were likely a result of increased brain function—which had been an unexpected, and we assumed favorable side effect of the Principal—but as the Primaries grew, those abilities grew as well, and something that had begun as an intriguing and possibly beneficial side note took on a life of its own—as proven by the eventual termination of PN4 and PN7. I understood that Evangeline would—almost definitely—have an ability similar to those we’d witnessed in the earlier Primaries, but I did not expect...this.

  The scientist in me wants nothing more than to document down to the last detail everything I witnessed, but I’ve decided not to do so. I want no written record of what must be protected. But Evangeline is not only perfect in every way—she is a miracle.”

  “A miracle,” Ash repeated. She rubbed her aching head and sighed. “Awesome.”

  “Miracles do not exist,” Ruslan said.

  “Well, it would explain the freak show that came after us. ‘The inference that there is something larger at work and the portentous claim of future calamity, both indicate an extremity of belief, and probably a healthy dose of conspiracy, as well.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

  Ruslan turned and looked at her. “Verbatim.”

  She only arched her brows at him.

  “You are far more than you appear to be,” he said unexpectedly. His pale, piercing gaze stroked over her features, fell to her mouth and lingered.

  A sudden, breathtaking clench fluttered in her belly in response, and Ash stared at him, aware of her heart beating with abrupt, disturbing intensity. Her skin prickled in almost painful awareness. “Only because you underestimate me.”

  “Perhaps, at first.” Ruslan watched her, and the weight of his gaze made her flush. A sudden, incendiary awareness flared between them like a spark catching flame. Hot and bright and purely sexual in nature; a living, breathing thing she could feel fire through her blood. She inhaled sharply, and his lashes flickered, and she knew he felt it, too. “But no longer. Still, you continue to surprise me.”

  “You don’t strike me as the kind of person who likes surprises,” she said.

  “Life is never without the unexpected. One must adapt or die.” His eyes gleamed like pewter; he was utterly motionless, focused on her with the stillness of a predator. Being thrust into that unwavering intensity was both thrilling and alarming as hell. “People rarely surprise me. You, however, are unlike anyone I have ever met.”

  “I am?” Her heart seemed to stutter at that. “Why?”

  For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Instead, his eyes stroked over her again, as palpable as a physical touch. Goosebumps followed in his wake, and a startling spasm of heat and need and odd, foreign yearning spiked through her. “You remind me that I am alive.”

  She blinked at him. “I do?”

  He only watched her.

  She was tingling suddenly, too warm, too aware, temptation a tantalizing whisper in her ear, and she couldn’t seem to look away from that intent, crystalline gaze. She’d never met a man who tempted her before.

  Didn’t it just figure it would be this one? Thanks for nothing, Universe.

  “You should keep reading,” she told him quietly. Because this conversation...

  It couldn’t be.

  “Does that bother you?” he asked. “That you make me...feel?”

  “No.” Yes. “Read.”

  She could feel that gaze, glinting like polished silver. His scent surrounded her, and every part of her wanted to reach out and test him. Which was crazy. Goddamn it. It wasn’t fair of him to look at her like that, not when he rejected her every touch.

  Not when he refused to share even the smallest piece of himself.

  “Ashling,” he said softly.

  “No,” she snarled.

  One of his brows rose. “Because I am...me?”

  He watched her, far too still. Intent. Predator.

  “Because I have no idea who you are,” she said flatly. “You won’t tell me.”

  For a long, intractable moment he was silent. Then he gave a curt nod. “As I said earlier, I will have to show you.”

  Goddamn him.

  “No,” she said again and ripped the book from his hands. She clenched her jaw and began to read where he’d left off.

  “We’ve been in the city for a year. I’m working for a biotech firm that specializes in the genetic modification of seed, and Loren is caring for her mother and Evangeline. Evangeline continues to blossom like the most beautiful of blooms, and every day I’m again amazed by her progress. She’s an incredible little person and the love of our lives.

  However, I’m becoming increasingly concerned with our safety. Although the Company has made no moves toward me, I’m aware more and more of being watched. Vehicles trailing me, men in black who hover just outside of view. We made the decision to homeschool Evangeline out of necessity—no teacher could possibly meet her needs, and her superiority over her peers would be shockingly obvious—and we’ve been careful to keep her from public view, but I’m certain they now know of her existence. Perhaps they always did. And while they have no proof she’s anything other than our child, the Company—should they suspect her true origins—wouldn’t hesitate to take her from us by force.

  I considered relocation, but fear it would do little good. I can only think the best course of action is to simply live our lives, while taking appropriate precautions. It’s been over a decade since the Primary Project was undertaken, surely the Company has better things to do than to stalk after and harass me.

  I often think of the other Primaries, and I can’t help but wonder what became of them. Are they alive? Are they thriving, as Evangeline is thriving?

  Are they happy?”

  “Men in black,” Ruslan said. “Perhaps it is GenTek we are dealing with.”

  “Do science and fanaticism go together?” Ash muttered, turning the page.

  “Some people say science is fanaticism,” he replied.

  “Yeah,” she retorted. “The fanatics.”

  She continued to read. “I’ve decided to hire our own personal security. I’ve found an organization that assures me they can help, and today two men arrived. One is as big as a house, and his sheer size makes me feel better. The other is older and less physically impressive, but there’s an intelligence and empathy in him I trust. Their presence makes Loren nervous, but Evangeline has taken to them both, particularly the older man. His name is Joseph, and he is patient and kind with her. I’m hopeful they will be able to return to me my peace of mind.”

  “Joseph Pierce,” Ruslan said. “He was their security detail.”

  A piece of the puzzle slid into place—but it was a tiny piece, and until they could speak with Joe, was just more supposition.

  If Joe was still alive.

  “Fuck,” Ash said.

  “Indeed.”

 
She turned to the last page.

  “We came home last night to these symbols painted on our living room wall:

  Nothing else had been touched, but the feed from the security cameras had been disrupted, and we discovered Kito, one of our security guards, gone. Joseph is furious, but I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew the Company was watching, and that it was only a matter of time before they acted.

  I’ve researched the symbols and found them to be common alchemy characters. The outside symbols signify sulphur5. Next to those are figures that represent the earth, however the addition of the inverted triangles seems to also indicate a reference to water. The icon in the center refers to creation, and the small mark inside of it is, I believe, another reference to terra, or earth. I have no idea what it means. I’ve been unable to find these particular symbols assembled together in any database. I assume the congress of the characters is meaningful, pointing to an organization or a particular designation of sorts, but that is pure speculation on my part.

  The lack of definition doesn’t ease my mind. I can only remember Reggie and his growing zealotry. Is this GenTek merely attempting to frighten us?

  Or is a worse adversary, someone for whom this is a fight of dogma and ideology?

  I’ve decided to move us further north, up to Crystal Lake. I can telecommute, and it will be good for Evangeline to begin to spend more time outdoors. I don’t know that relocating will stop the Company, but I have to try. Joseph insists on accompanying us. He’s become a man I like and trust very much. Other than Loren and Addie, he’s the only one who knows Evangeline’s true geneses. I told him because I fear for my life, and someone must exist who understands what Evangeline is. It is a risk, but a necessary one. I can only hope it was the right decision.

  We’ll leave for Crystal Lake at the end of February. I’m looking forward to the fishing.

  “That’s it,” Ash said, thumbing through the rest of the blank pages.

  Ruslan said nothing. He took the book from her, opened it to the last written page and stared at the symbols Anson Grant had drawn. His face was taunt, his jaw like granite. His pale eyes were so clear they looked like mirrors. Any hint of the man who’d watched her with that sizzling intensity was long gone.