Twist

by Roni Teson

  Agent Carter grabbed me and I wrestled her around, keeping her back to Mr. Campbell while he fumbled for a second with his suitcase. I saw him drop the vial inside.

  “You and you!” Agent Carter said, pulling away and pointing at Mr. Campbell and me. “Search them both. I’m not buying the false hysterics.” She yanked the folder out of my hands and flipped through the handwritten document.

  I sniffled and said, “That’s mine.”

  “In a minute—I want the lab to look at it.” Her eyes were steely cold. Agent Carter didn’t even pretend to be nice.

  Chapter 31

  I was pushed into the windowless room where I had been searched earlier. A female agent came in right behind me.

  “We have to do another search,” she said. “Sorry.”

  I moved real slow, sniffling and trying to act like it didn’t matter. I handed her my clothes, and when I was down to my underwear she motioned at me to continue.

  “Lift your arms,” she said. “Take your bra off, and your panties.”

  When I could not stop crying, she handed me a tissue. She actually did a cavity search! That was humiliating.

  They took my clothes and gave me a robe. I sat in the room with one chair for an eternity. Finally my clothes were returned.

  Once I was dressed, they moved me to an interrogation room were I was alone for what seemed like eternity number two. Then Agent Carter and a man entered the room.

  “Did your father give you anything?” she asked.

  “Where is my attorney?” I said. “I was promised that he would be here during the debrief.”

  “This is not a debriefing,” the man said. “It’s an interrogation.”

  “Okay, I want my lawyer.” I folded my arms. “Shouldn’t be hard to locate. He came here with me.”

  “Look, we need to make sure that lethal substances—toxins—do not leave the premises.”

  “Haven’t my rights been violated enough today?” I said. “I’m done talking to my dad, to you people, to anyone about all of this made-up biochemical weapons crap. Leave me alone!”

  For a moment Agent Carter seemed confused. “Is that what he told you, more of the biochemical story?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  The agents exchanged a knowing look, and then left the room.

  Mr. Campbell was the next person I saw. I heard him first. He was making a big stink to someone about catching his flight and then he tapped on the door and entered.

  “We’re leaving,” he said. “Get your things.”

  “I’m not finished yet,” Agent Carter’s voice carried into the room.

  “Yes you are.” Mr. Campbell pushed past her and handed me my book bag from the table. “We’re done.”

  And it was as if he’d parted the sea. They moved out of our way and in a few minutes we were on the curb. A sedan pulled up and we were whisked away.

  Mr. Campbell found a tracking device in my book bag, and something that looked like a bug on the side of his brief case. He tossed them out the window.

  “I’m shocked they went that far,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The searches, trying to question you.” He waved his hands toward the street. “Tracking devices, a bug.”

  “It’s time to tell me,” I said.

  Mr. Campbell’s suit looked wrinkled. I’d never seen anything affect him. I wondered if they stripped him, too.

  “I knew this moment would come and it would fall on me to tell you, but that doesn’t make it any easier,” he said.

  I waited, because everything seemed easy for him. Even the way he said that doesn’t make it easier was ice cold: no emotion whatsoever.

  “Your father faked your mother’s death so that he could finish developing this drug that he believes will save her life.” He looked out the window.

  “Where is she?” My voice rippled.

  “She’s safe.”

  “Can she talk? I want to see her,” I said.

  He wrinkled his nose, and a flicker of emotion seemed to come out of his steely resolve. “She’s deteriorating. I’m bringing you to her. But—”

  I wiped my face with the back of my trembling hand. I thought I’d never see her again on this planet. But this whole thing didn’t seem real. “Why all of this—I waved my shaking arm—“craziness?”

  “The government wants this drug, but more importantly they don’t want anyone else to get their hands on it. This medicine is an unbelievable weapon of intelligence.”

  “So he developed a bioweapon already?” I asked.

  Mr. Campbell shook his head. “Technically, it’s more of a tool.”

  The lines on his forehead wrinkled, and his brow swept downward. “Your mom’s far advanced in her symptoms. The medicine might not work at this stage. But it was your mother’s wish to continue the research and use her brain—use her—as the experimental subject. She was adamant. She insisted your father fake her death so that Sanctity would back off.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, first, what you need to know is that faking her death included making sure that everyone else in her life thought she was dead. You understand why, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t make it right.” The car sped down the highway as we spoke. “I can’t believe my mom would play along.”

  “Your mother did this for you,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Your mother is the true heroine behind this entire operation. Your father is carrying out her wishes.”

  Suddenly I felt fearful for all of us, my mother, my father, and me. That mountain of dread that accompanied my swinging mood tree was bearing down on me.

  “She had the implant installed because of you. She developed CJD because of you.” He adjusted his tie and kept his gaze on the back of the driver’s head.

  “No, no—you can’t just say these things. This lie hurts,” I said. “Stop this flipping game.”

  “Beatrice, you are the reason,” he said.

  “No.”

  “You have CJD.”

  “No.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Your mother and father developed the drug that put you in this incubation, or what would more commonly be known as remission. But it will be short lived, as all of the research has indicated.”

  My head spun. Why would I have an implant? How come I don’t remember going bonkers like Mom did? And why wouldn’t Aunt Charlotte know about this?

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t care if you believe me,” he said.

  “My mom didn’t have it? He made up the epilepsy story?”

  “You both have epilepsy,” he said. “Some of your behavior lately led him to believe you might be coming out of incubation.”

  “How can this be?”

  He shrugged, and I wanted to slap him. The man was so cavalier it was chilling. “I don’t think so. I don’t believe you,” I said again.

  “I’m only the messenger.”

  “My mom allowed herself to become a live test for me?” I touched my head, my legs, my arms—I felt so normal.

  “Yes.”

  “So the Germans didn’t save her,” I asked.

  “The drug from Germany saved both of you,” he said. “But your mother went first and then had a recurrence. Just as your father told you.”

  “How do I get medicine and not know? How could I be this sick and Aunt Charlotte doesn’t know?” I asked. Then I thought about Aunt Charlotte and Amilee doting on me at times. “Did Aunt Charlotte and Amilee help?”

  “No. You lived far enough away from your aunt and uncle that nobody knows the details. Everyone thought you had your tonsils removed.”

  He inhaled deeply, his chest rose and then fell as he released the air—and that small physical gesture made me understand how difficult this task was for him. Mr. Emotionless wasn’t, after all, completely without emotion.

  “Amilee and your aunt and uncle observe you for signs that you might have i
nherited this crazy disease, that’s all,” he said.

  “You expect me to believe I have CJD and I’m going to die if Dad doesn’t finish testing the medicine on my mother? My mother who died, but didn’t die?”

  “That is correct. But you don’t have to believe me, you can wait and see.”

  And then he reached over and gently put his hand over mine.

  I lifted my other hand to wipe the new flow of tears away. I was shaking all over. “I want to see my mom,” I whispered.

  “Okay,” Mr. Campbell said.

  “What about your flight?” I asked and then felt so dumb. Of course that was a ruse, too.

  He pulled out his phone and sent a few messages. While I sat there wondering if any of this was even happening.

  Could it be I’m just crazy?

  “Your dad wanted me to tell you that you should wait a day to see your mother. If the medicine works, she will be in a better state tomorrow.”

  “No. I want to see her now.”

  “We expected as much,” he said.

  “What about my phone? And the car—are we bugged or tracked or anything?”

  “You saw me get rid of the bug and the tracking device. It’s fine,” he said. “For the next few days it will be important to show that things are normal. You’ll need to go to school and so on.”

  “Tomorrow is Saturday,” I said.

  “Oh.” He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Then do what you normally do on the weekends. Go to the mall.”

  “I don’t go to the mall,” I snapped.

  “You get my point, don’t you?”

  “My brain is supposedly rotting away, what do I care about being normal?” I said.

  He sat even more upright and then actually raised his voice. “You are as good as cured. All of this has been for you. When you are ready to digest that, you’ll understand how much these people love you.”

  We sat in silence for quite a while and then in a hushed tone he said, “It’s my understanding that your parents wanted a normal life for you, for as long as possible.”

  “Do I have a time bomb ticking inside of me? Can this go either way?”

  “Yes,” he said. “But it won’t. The drug will work.”

  Heavy concrete walls crashed down on me. How could this whole thing have been about me? “Who else knows about me? Aunt Charlotte? Amilee?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Explain.”

  “I told you, they have been instructed to watch you because it might be hereditary.” He touched my arm and softened. “That’s all.”

  “What now?”

  “Once the medicine is shown to work on your mother, you will be next.”

  I didn’t really expect an answer. But now I wondered, was my swinging mood tree a part of my insanity?

  The noises of the car were loud—the squeaky leather and the ticking of the blinker. Every movement, every dip, every angle on a turn seemed to be over-accentuated.

  Would this be my last car ride?

  A moment of clarity happened so fast that it slipped through my lips before I could think about it. “Why not give it to us both? What’s the plan if it doesn’t work?”

  “That’s why your father is still in the lab.”

  “No, no, no.” I put my head in my hands and sobbed.

  Chapter 32

  We parked outside an old-folks home, a single-story brick building that ran the length of half the block. Mr. Campbell called it an extended-care facility. But I saw all the silver-hairs outside, enjoying the momentary splash of sunshine.

  “I’ll give you a minute.” Mr. Campbell stepped out of the car and then poked his head back in and said, “But we don’t have much time.”

  I used my sleeve to wipe my face off and decided to get moving, because thinking about everything wasn’t going to help my cause, or my mother’s, no matter how much effort I put into it.

  I stepped onto the curb and straightened my clothes. “I’m ready,” I said as I walked to the front door. I looked around, and it occurred to me that we were only about five miles from Amilee’s house.

  “Beatrice?” An older woman wearing a floral housecoat approached me. “We haven’t seen you in a while.” She had frizzy gray hair, and her back was humped, but as strange as she looked, her eyes were clear. “How are you feeling, dear?”

  I looked at Mr. Campbell for help but he shook his head as if to say, I don’t know who she is.

  She followed us through the front door and into the lobby. “You look really good. All grown up.”

  I stopped and looked at her. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  “Oh, it’s been a few years. But I’d recognize you anywhere,” she said. “You’re our little miracle.”

  “Huh?”

  “Three years ago, maybe longer,” she said.

  Mr. Campbell put his hand on my arm. “Excuse me,” he said to the woman. “It’s this way, Bea.”

  “I’ll wait for you, Beatrice.” She waved at me as we walked away.

  How could that woman know me?

  The Formica floor and bright walls reminded me of school, but that was the extent of my familiarity with the building. I’d never been here before.

  Mr. Campbell led me down the corridor. I knew he’d never been there because he was searching for a room number that was written on a tiny scrap of paper. He kept looking at the number like he couldn’t remember it.

  We rounded the corner and ran into the man who was at the helicopter with my dad. He was wearing a white orderly’s coat and folding towels on a table in the hallway.

  “Security detail,” Mr. Campbell whispered, as he pushed open a door and stepped inside. “C’mon.”

  We walked past an empty bed and moved the curtain back from the second bed. The walls around both beds were lined with medical equipment. Soft music was coming from a boom box on a table in the corner.

  “Mom?” My knees buckled and an instant flow of tears streamed down my cheeks. “Is she asleep?”

  Her body looked so small. She had an IV in one arm and all sorts of machines surrounding her.

  “I don’t know,” Mr. Campbell said.

  I touched her hand and it was warm. “It’s a miracle,” I whispered.

  I crawled into bed next to her and felt how small she was, even though her body was curled inward. “How long has she been like this?”

  “Several weeks,” he said. “They’re using a feeding tube to feed her.”

  Her skin was white and everything about her that was once so strong was now frail.

  “Can I be alone with her, please?”

  Mr. Campbell nodded and left the room.

  I sobbed into my mom’s shoulder and I felt her hand move. “I don’t know what to believe, Mama. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I laid my head on her shoulder as I whispered in her ear. “Am I going crazy? Are you my proof of that?” And then I cried some more. “I’m so scared. I’m so alone.” I ran my fingers over her face. “I thought you were dead.”

  I must have dozed off because when I woke up, Mr. Campbell was looking at me. “We need to leave,” he said.

  He was gentle when he helped me off of the bed—I felt so drained.

  “This way,” he said.

  We walked down the hall and out the door. The frizzy-haired lady was not waiting for me, and I didn’t ask about her.

  Mr. Campbell gave the driver his orders and then he turned to me and said, “We’re so close to righting a true wrong.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s very important that you do not tell Amilee about this and that you go about your weekend as planned,” he said. “Officially, I missed my flight and we grabbed a bite to eat. I don’t think you will be bothered again by the FBI, but just in case.”

  “Am I safe from myself?” I asked.

  “By Monday all of this will be over,” he said.

  I gulped. “Is my mom going to die?”

  “She’s in good hands
,” he said. He handed me a note and told me to put it in my pocket. “Just in case, I want you to put this where you’ll see it Sunday night and Monday morning.”

  I read: Be ready at 6 a. m. Monday morning.

  Chapter 33

  When I opened the front door and sensed an empty house, I was grateful. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I took a shower and went straight to the computer.

  I read about the symptoms of CJD again, but this time it was different because it was about me: personality changes, anxiety, depression, memory loss, blurred vision, insomnia, and difficulty speaking.

  At times, I had all of these!

  According to Internet sources, I had less than seven months to live because that’s the length of time the disease runs from the onset of symptoms. Technically, I already was dead!

  Immediately my vision blurred and I felt anxious. So I thought that if was going to die—because the memory loss had me forgetting that my parents had developed a potential cure (right?)—then I was going to enjoy my final weekend. My last stand.

  I dug my cell phone out of my book bag and saw all the text messages from Amilee. Within seconds of my text, she called me, as usual. “What’s up, little sistah? Are we still on for tonight?”

  “Oh, yeah. And what do you say about ditching school the rest of the day?”

  “I only have one class left.”

  “Come and get me!” I said.

  “I’m on my way,” Amilee said. “You must have had a good day at the FBI.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Give me ten minutes to get home and let’s celebrate,” she said.

  I liked that about her. She was up for anything. I put on a pair of jeans and some grubby shoes. When I tucked my shirt in I found a stone. It was the geode that I took from Dad that day in the park.

  Had I been carrying that thing around with me for the last few months?

  “Stop it, cuckoo,” I said to myself. “You’re memory’s fine.”

  After I got dressed and used eye drops and put on some makeup, I almost looked normal. Then hurricane Amilee came storming through the door. “Scott and Grant have big plans for tonight, but they won’t tell me and—” She stopped abruptly when she saw me.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I said.