"Good, I guess. How long have I been out?"
"Almost twenty-four hours, but part of that is my fault. I gave you something. I wasn't sure how it would work with your particular--" She stops like she is searching for a word. "Configuration. But you seem to have a system that responds in most ways like a typical human body, and I didn't want to stitch you up without something to put you out for a while. Besides, you needed the rest."
"Wait a minute." I push myself up on one elbow. "You stitched me?" I look down. My shirt is gone, and when I glance beneath the blanket, so are the rest of my clothes. It looks like I've been bathed. "What did you--"
"Don't worry. I'm over it. You should be too."
I pull the blanket up a little higher to cover my chest. "Where'd you learn to stitch things?"
She smiles. "There's a lot you can learn in two hundred and sixty years. I haven't been sitting around twiddling my thumbs all this time." She reaches over and lays her hand on mine like it was only yesterday that we held hands under the stars. "I'm going to bring you something to eat. If you're up to it, your clothes are over there." She nods toward a chair in the corner. "Freshly washed." She stands. "I'll be right back."
Once she closes the door, I hop out of bed and grab my clothes, scrambling them on as fast as I can. But I guess the seeing-me-naked ship has already sailed. I pull my shirt up and look in the mirror. The bandage around my middle is gone, and the gash is barely visible. She knows how to stitch. I look around the room. It's simply furnished--a bed, an antique dresser with an oval mirror, and two small wingback chairs in the corner with a small round table between them. On the floor is a basket of shells, stones, and worn pieces of glass and wood that look like they've been collected from a beach. A multicolored braided rug lies between the bed and chairs. There's only one picture on the wall. I step closer to get a better look. It's an old photo of some kind of art--hundreds of pine needles pushed into the ground, made to look like a snake weaving in and out of the earth. Right near the head of the snake is a single real sparrow with its head slightly turned, almost as if it's listening for a hiss. The title is handwritten at the bottom, Pine Serpent, with an inscription in one corner, To Jenna, and then signed in the other corner, C. Bender.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
I turn. "It's different. You know the artist?"
"I did." She walks across the room and sets a tray on the table in the corner. I look at the tray overflowing with food--eggs, fruit, French toast. Even a lace-edged linen napkin. The Jenna I knew didn't cook. At the summer cottage, Kara and I even had to show her how to fry an egg.
"Thanks. I'm starved, but I could have come to the kitchen."
"No, it's better here. We'll have some privacy."
She goes back and closes the door and then sits in the chair opposite mine. "I hope you like it. Go ahead. Eat."
She does all the talking while I stuff my face. She tells me that the French toast recipe is from her grandmother Lily. Ground ginger, that's the secret. Lily taught her how to cook. She says most of the food comes from local farmers or she grows it herself. She even has chickens and several goats who provide eggs, milk, and cheese. She keeps the air filled with chatter about vegetables, rainfall, and Lily's recipes until I take my last bite, and then she leans back in her chair and sighs. "Tell me, Locke. Who did this to you?"
"Which part? The body? The beating? The stealing of my mind?"
"Everything."
I start at the beginning with Dr. Ash, giving her Cole's version rather than Dr. Gatsbro's. She is surprised when I mention Dr. Ash, remembering him from visits to her father's labs. Ash's office was down the hall from her father's, and she always noticed how polished and well groomed he was compared to so many of the disheveled scientists who worked there. He never wore a lab coat, always nicely tailored suits.
"His tastes were apparently expensive--at least costly enough that he needed a little secret side business." But then I think about the smugness of Gatsbro's face in the alley when he found us, like we were only insects that had scurried out of his petri dish, like all the power of the world was in his hands. My mother used to say that power was a mighty drug. I didn't really know what that meant until now. "Or maybe Ash did it just because he could."
I don't tell her everything that happened in all our years apart. How can I? The restrained grimace that crosses her face when I skim the bare details tells me she is grasping our nine levels of hell and maybe experiencing hers all over again too.
"Finally we were rescued by Dr. Gatsbro--at least we thought we were." I tell her about our secluded life at the estate for the past year, his tweaking of Bio Gel to create BioPerfect, and our final realization that we were prisoners there for the purpose of showing off his illegal technology to wealthy customers who never want to die.
"And the gash and the cut on your lip?"
"His first potential customer came out to the estate. He did everything but pull back our lips and count our teeth. Kara put it all together pretty quick, and that's when we ran. Gatsbro caught up with us in Boston, and when we refused to return with him, he used another method to convince me--or his goons did. A musclehead with metal-tipped boots was responsible for this." I touch my side. "And I don't have a clue who smashed my face into the brick wall. It all happened so fast. We still managed to run. That was when Kara and I got separated."
I explain about trying to catch up with Kara in Topeka and how Miesha and Dot are off on their own trying to leave a false trail for Gatsbro.
"So Kara did get away?" she asks.
"Yes, but--"
"Good. She knew the trains in Boston like the back of her hand. And the trains now are even simpler. She'll manage. There's no one as clever as Kara." I hear the relief in her voice.
"But Gatsbro's still after us. He won't give up."
"You're right, he probably won't," she agrees. "Not when it comes to greed and money. And you'll have to worry about Security Force Officers too." She stands. "Come take a walk with me, Locke."
A walk? Now?
I stand too. "Jenna, you don't understand. It's not just Gatsbro who's a problem."
"What do you mean?"
I reach out and hold both her arms. "It's Kara. She's on her way here because--" Looking straight into her eyes, it's so much harder to say.
"Yes?"
"She's angry, Jenna. She's angry at you."
She looks at me, her brows rising at this new thought. Finally, she nods. "I suppose she would be. Who could blame her? She has every right to be. I was angry when I found out. I wanted to lash out at everyone. Just yesterday you were angry with me and eyeing a knife on my kitchen counter--"
"Jenna, you know I would never--"
She reaches up and holds my face in her hands. "I know, Locke. I know." Her hands slide from my face to grip both of my hands in hers. "And neither will Kara. She was my best friend. I knew her better than anyone. Yes, she'll be angry. Yes, she will vent. She may even throw things. But she's my friend. That will never change. We'll work this out."
I look at her, so confident, believing in everything she remembers about the Kara she knew, and I'm almost convinced. There are so many versions of the truth. Gatsbro's, Miesha's, Kara's. All those years in the darkness, I even created my own. But right now I want to believe in Jenna's version. Could it be true? Could it all work out?
I look into her eyes and nod. Her arms slide around me, and we hold each other. Just holding. No words. And my hope grows. The truth of my world flipped in an instant after the accident. It flipped again at Gatsbro's estate. Maybe it could flip again in Jenna's world.
Chapter 46
I hadn't paid a lot of attention to Jenna's house when we arrived. All my focus was centered on her. Now we step out the back door, and I take it in. It is rustic. Nothing like her brownstone in Boston. It's a large and sprawling house, showing signs of age. The back door sticks when Jenna leads us out, and the wooden porch sags. But what strikes me the most is how natural it is. The
brown wooden siding blends with the landscape. There are no formal gardens like at her house in Boston. Large rocks divide raked dirt pathways from wildflowers and native plants, and a towering oak tree hovers over a large open area overlooking a pond. A rough wooden bench is almost invisible in its shade.
"This isn't what I expected."
"I used to live across the way." She points across the pond to what looks like the remnants of a house. A few stone walls remain standing, but most of it is overgrown with vines and weeds. The only intact building is a long greenhouse that sits on the back of the property.
"You lived in a greenhouse?"
She laughs. "No. The house burned down forty years ago. That's when I moved here. This place actually suits me better."
I look out at the pond and then back at her house, which almost looks like it's growing out of the landscape too. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Kara was all over Whitman like he was the one who invented words, but you were always more about Thoreau. Looks like you've found your own Walden here."
She grins. "You remember that?"
"I remember a lot. There was Dickinson. Millay. You and Kara had a long list of favorites." I look into her eyes for a second or two longer than I should, and she looks away.
"The house was left to me by the man whose art you saw on the wall, but I've continued to maintain the greenhouse over on the other side. That used to be Lily's. Come on. I'll take you over. There's something you need to see." She grabs my hand and pulls me down a gentle incline toward some woods. "There's a bridge this way we can use to cross." At the edge of the woods is a large wooden bridge that spans a small waterfall where the pond overflows into a briskly running creek. "This creek was just a trickle when I moved here--I could walk across on the stones--but construction upstream channeled more runoff into the stream that feeds it. It's especially bad after storms like the one we just had."
"Is this the pond where you..."
"Yes. I threw all three uploads right about there." She points to the center of the pond.
"You must have had quite an arm to get them out that far."
"I was desperate and determined. I wanted to make sure I threw them where my parents couldn't get to them, at least until..." She hesitates. "Until they were no longer viable. My father said that once they were removed from their battery docks, it would take about thirty minutes for the environments to stop spinning."
I stare at the glassy surface, trying to see it the way Jenna did. It was a different time. Trying to see it as a way out instead of as an ending. Thirty minutes was all it took. That's barely a blink compared to all the time I spent on a warehouse shelf. What did the other me think during those last minutes? Was he glad? Was I glad? Which one was, is, the real me? Both? A shiver runs down my arms, and I look away, which Jenna takes as a signal to move on.
We cross the bridge to the other side, and I get a closer glimpse of the remains of the house. "How did it burn down?"
She looks sideways at me and then at the ground. "A wildfire." I can dissect a quick glance with Jenna as well as I can with Miesha. Jenna's natural state was always reserved and calm--and careful. Like me, she grew up as a pleaser. But in a two-second glance beneath all her serenity, I see fury. It passes quickly. She probably doesn't even know I saw it. I doubt that her Bio Gel has all the abilities of my BioPerfect. I'm just beginning to realize I need to tap into its strengths more often. I can't ever be just who I was. I may as well make the most of whatever I am now.
I look at the rubble of what must have been an amazing house at one time. "With all the Fox fortune, I'm surprised you didn't rebuild."
She frowns. "There is no Fox fortune. At least not anymore." Her steps hesitate for just a second. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining. I still have both of these properties and a lot of adjoining acreage that I acquired over the years. That's more than many people have, plus I have a small income from some investments I've managed to hang on to. And with the money from the herbs and vegetables we sell, we get by."
I didn't see that coming in her glance. The Fox fortune was in the tens of billions. Maybe by today's standards, trillions. Where could it all have gone?
I guess I underestimated her Bio Gel, or maybe it is just old-fashioned perceptiveness, but she seems to have read my thoughts. "That's why I brought you over here. To explain a few things." We're almost at the greenhouse when the girl I saw at the market yesterday with Jenna emerges with a flat of seedlings in her hands. The small child who pried my eye open this morning bounces out right behind her with a smaller container of seedlings of her own. They spot us and walk over.
"Allys and Kayla, I'd like you to officially meet my friend Locke."
Allys grins. "We met last night, unofficially, though you wouldn't remember. You were a little woozy. Glad to see you're feeling better."
Did she help Jenna undress and bathe me? With my size and weight, Jenna couldn't have done it all by herself. My neck flashes with heat. "Nice to meet you. Officially. Thanks, for, uh--" I turn my attention to the little girl. "Nice to see you again too, Kayla. As you can see, I'm not dead."
"Good. You can help us with these."
Jenna exchanges a glance with Allys. "Not right now, Angel. Maybe later."
"Come on, Sweet Pea," Allys says, and begins walking away. "This lettuce needs your special touch."
Kayla chases after her, and Jenna looks after them both, smiling.
"How do you know them?" I ask.
Jenna turns, and we continue toward the greenhouse. "Allys is an old friend. A very old friend. She lives here with me now. And Kayla"--she reaches for the greenhouse door and pulls it open--"she's my daughter."
I stop halfway through the door. I can't hide my shock, and she smiles. "Come on, Locke, it's not that unusual. I may still look like the sixteen-year-old that you knew, but I have been around for a while. I haven't been sitting gazing at my navel all this time."
I nod like an idiot and then blurt out a question before I can even think about it myself. "Are you married?"
"I was. Ethan's been dead now for a hundred and ninety years, but we were married for seventy. He was a good man."
The numbers aren't adding up in my head. "But Kayla's only--"
"I was illegal the entire time Ethan and I were married. It didn't seem right to bring a child into our way of life. But we had saved everything that was necessary for a child if either of us ever felt the time was right. I had to use a surrogate for obvious reasons, but Kayla is one hundred percent ours."
"You've been alone for a hundred and ninety years? You never married again?"
She shakes her head. "It's hard enough to lose one husband. There have been a couple of people over the years...." She leans back against the door. "The thing is, Allys is just as old as I am. She was saved with Bio Gel about the same time I was. I've watched her outlive six husbands and what she's gone through each time. That's not for me. When you're like us, saying good-bye becomes a way of life, but I couldn't deliberately do that to myself over and over again like she does. She says she's done for good with love now, but it's only been six years since her last husband died. Give her time." She walks through the door, and I follow.
"So you're done for good?" I say to her back.
She pauses mid-step and shakes her head, then turns to face me. "I've learned never to say never about anything. The world proves me a liar every time I do. But I know I'm done with saying good-bye." She throws out her hands, sweeping them toward the plants. "So, what do you think?"
Nice change of subject, Jenna. That's what I think. I look around the greenhouse. Lots of plants. Green. Warm and wet. Woven hemp mats down neat rows of green stuff. All nice, but hardly important to me right now. I look back at her. She isn't getting it. The clock is ticking. I don't have time for tours or to admire her hobby. There's a madman after me and Kara. Not to mention, I haven't even begun to scrape the surface on all I need to say. One short conversation doesn't wipe out decades of wondering. I can't
pretend enthusiasm. Not right now. Not even for Jenna. "It's a greenhouse, all right."
"Exactly. That's just what I wanted to hear." She grabs my hand. "Come on." She pulls me toward two rows of thick palms. Fronds whip at my face as we make our way down the path between them. Halfway down, she stops and faces me. "If you need to hide for some reason, this will be a safe place to come."
I look at the palms. They provide some camouflage, but I think I could do better in the woods past the bridge.
"Lift," she says, pointing to a corner of a hemp mat.
"Here?" I lift a corner and see that the ground beneath the mat is not dirt. There's a metal plate with a recessed latch. I pull on the latch, and a three-foot square of floor swings away, revealing a staircase.
"Before the Fox fortune was all gone, I did manage to make a few improvements around here. Let me show you."
She leads and I follow her down the dark stairwell.
Chapter 47
The room below is about a quarter the size of the greenhouse. On one side are three cots and some shelves that are dusty and empty. On the other side is a Net Center with two stations, neither of them operating. Covering it all is a thick layer of dust, like the room hasn't been used in a long time. I learn it hasn't.
"For years, Ethan and I worked down here to help others like me obtain new identities and find some semblance of a life. After Ethan died, I became braver. Maybe I just felt I had nothing to lose. I showed up at a Congressional hearing on the FSEB and announced who I was." She tells me about the Federal Science and Ethics Board, some government agency I probably learned about in school but never paid attention to. I should have. They were the ones who had decided she was illegal based on a point system of replacement parts.
"I was taken into custody and spent a year in what they called detainment. Same thing as jail, but with none of the rights. But I already had all the groundwork in place before I made my move. I felt the time was ripe, and I had given all of my information to a Congressman Peck, who championed my cause. And I had plenty of hired guns ready--publicists--who were armed with enough video--all the good of me, all the bad of the FSEB, and press releases that never quit--that the FSEB hardly knew what hit them. They never could catch up. I have to say it was probably the best campaign in history. Of course, like I said, the time was ripe, the public was ready. It was the beginning of the personal privacy era. Other than public space ID, all personal tracking information and devices were being outlawed. The heavy hand of the FSEB was already crumbling--this just brought them down faster. In the end, the campaign came together in a moment that would have made my mother proud. It was as dramatic and well-choreographed as the climax of a ballet. At the height of the hearings, Allys walked in leading forty other Bio Gel recipients who had gone over the FSEB's quota system, all fine, upstanding citizens of the country. That did it. The FSEB came tumbling down, and new standards were adopted."
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