Shadows in the House With Twelve Rooms

by J. Price Higgins

  "Doctor Jensen." The handshake was firm. "I'm so happy to finally meet you." The voice was a satined alto, the lips full, the smile genuine.

  "Please sit down, Doctor Raborman." Ellery motioned toward the chair in front of her desk. She turned toward her secretary who was still standing in the open doorway. "That will be all, Leann. Make certain we aren't interrupted."

  "Yes, Doctor Jensen." The heavy door closed with a barely audible click.

  Seated behind her desk, Ellery pulled the dossier in front of her. "I hope our spring fog hasn't discouraged you, Doctor Raborman. The island, though small, is beautiful once the mists burn away." She opened the folder.

  "It is beautiful with the mists, Doctor Jensen. The fog makes it more intimate, mysterious."

  Surprised, Ellery looked up to find the black eyes watching her intently. She smiled. "Several of our resident scientists would disagree on that point, Doctor Raborman, but not I. I happen to think you're right." Her finger tapped the dossier. "From the looks of this, you would be welcome at any research facility you chose. Why Tartarus?" A rhetorical question designed to put a prospective employee at ease. Ellery leaned back in her chair, fully expecting to hear the standard answers: research facilities using technology unavailable in any other laboratory, unlimited funds to pursue a chosen project, freedom to customize an assigned lab space. There were others, but those were the three she heard most often.

  "Because of you, Doctor Jensen. Would you mind calling me Bianca? I would be more comfortable."

  "You want to work at Tartarus because of me?"

  "Yes. As the daughter of one of the Dakota twins and the granddaughter of Doctor Victor Dakota, you're well known, but your reputation as a genetic theorist is . . . I believe brilliant would be the word I've heard most often." The eyes were direct and confident. "I want to continue my research on species evolution under the best teacher I can find. What better tutor than one who has six Nobels to her credit? In addition, if I understand the write-ups correctly, you carry a line-inheritable, man-made gene whose sole function is to amplify aural energies. The artificial development of such phenomenal mind power is all the proof I need that species evolution is not dependent on time or environment. With the right tools, it can be accelerated. I see that as immensely valuable and I want to prove it."

  Ellery smiled. "I’m not sure my sons would agree with the aural energy prognosis. They would be more inclined to say that the gene merely enhances their predictive logic."

  Bianca returned the smile. "Either way, it’s a singular accomplishment."

  "And one my grandfather was never able to duplicate although he spent most of his life trying."

  Bianca leaned forward and with impassioned intensity said, "I can understand why. In the majority of today’s research labs, nature’s building blocks are over-stimulated or shut down or patched in where they don’t belong. Sometimes, these built-in instructions are excised completely. All done in the name of need and often ending in tragedy. That’s not the same as creating a virginal, specialized gene that will function in harmony with the species involved, be it plant, animal, or man himself. To actually create a gene with such extraordinary properties—" She leaned back, shaking her head with wonder. "I don't mean to ramble, but what Victor Dakota accomplished is just so . . . so incredible. That's why I chose Tartarus."

  Ellery stared, speechless. In the twenty years she'd directed the activities of the Foundation, she had never come across a prospective employee with such blunt honesty. Although no hint of flattery tinged the voice, it was obvious Bianca Raborman found Dakotan accomplishments impressive, especially the BH gene. Would this thirty-year-old be as impressed if she knew of the brain-altering growth the gene produced in male Dakotans? Ellery wondered.

  "The Mendel Web," Papa Victor had called that jelly-like mass of neural tissue tucked beneath the Cerebellum. Mendel in honor of an Austrian priest—a botanist credited with establishing the science of genetics nearly three hundred years earlier—and web because of the delicate, threadlike nerve lines emanating from the mass and encircling the Pineal Gland.

  Her thoughts buzzed like angry bees.

  A gene with such extraordinary properties indeed!

  An abomination. One that brought terrible pain to a BH inheritor when he reached puberty, and broke a mother's heart because she could not stop the development.

  "It must have made your grandmother proud to know that her children were milestones in genetic history. It couldn’t have been much fun for them, though. The celebrity spotlight and all."

  Ellery eyed Bianca's dossier, clasping her hands tight to stop the trembling. I wonder what you would say if I told you that my mother died believing I and my sisters were freaks; accepted that she, a genetic wonder, was the heinous creation responsible? What if you discovered my son cracked his skull with a hammer trying to let the voices out, that my daughter, barely five years old, begged me to take away the gene when she witnessed her brother's development? Would you be so excited then?

  Ellery looked up from the gray folder.

  "Oh. Forgive me, Doctor Jensen. I didn't mean to get so personal. I apologize for my rudeness."

  "You don't need to apologize, Doctor Rab—Bianca. I understand. Yes, my grandmother knew the twins were a scientific breakthrough. They proved to the world that the gene functioned as my grandfather intended, no doubt about that," Ellery said calmly.

  If you only knew, Ellery thought. It does far more than intended and my children live with that secret—that fear of madness—every day. So too Maria's and Katherine's and Suella's and Margaret's, she reminded herself. Their children suffered the same agonies, carried the same fear. They had formed a pact with one another, she and her sisters. What had come to light with the third generation would stay a family secret. Bianca's voice shattered the tangled memories. Ellery forced herself to listen.

  "With that in mind, I hope I can produce another milestone someday." Elation turned serious. "No, that isn't right. In time, if Tartarus accepts me, I will produce another milestone."

  "Well, then—I say we get started. Are you ready?"

  Bianca nodded.

  For two hours, Ellery questioned and Bianca answered. With each answer, the director felt an inner excitement grab and release, grab and release. Never had she met anyone like Bianca Raborman. No flaws here, only raw genius. At last, she pulled out a Tartarus contract, turned it to face Bianca, and went over each paragraph line by line.

  "Last and final point, Bianca," she said. "You're required to live on the island during your first year apprenticeship. After that, you may retain your quarters here, or live in the city. We have two cabin cruisers available at all times, day or night. One is docked here and one is docked at our private San Francisco pier, so you're not stranded on either side at any time. If the terms of the contract are agreeable, all I need is your signature right here." She pointed to a thin line on the third page.

  Bianca's bold scrawl slashed across the contract. As she handed the pen back to Ellery her olive skin glowed, her almond eyes radiated pleasure. She brushed back a wisp of blue-black hair that had escaped its smoothed perfection.

  Impeccable beauty, Ellery thought, watching the liquid movement of Bianca's hand. She signed her name with well-formed letters below the heavy scrawl. Handing Bianca a copy, she said, "Welcome to Tartarus, Doctor Raborman."

  "Thank you. I can hardly wait to get started." Bianca glanced toward the door. "If you'll point me in the right direction—"

  "Leann will show you to your quarters. Are you staying in the City?"

  "Yes. The Fairmont."

  "Ahhh yes. San Francisco’s latest historical renovation. I understand its former grandeur pales by comparison."

  "It should. It cost enough." Bianca chuckled. "That was my mother's first foray into a beautification project that didn't start with the letter ell, you know."

  "Pardon?"

  "A family thing, Doctor Jensen. Not important."

  "I see."
Ellery didn't see at all, but she smiled in return. "So, why don't you go into the city, do whatever you need to do, then come back and get settled in. We will tour the facility in the morning, get you acquainted with everyone, and go over the layout of your lab." Ellery put out her hand. "Then we'll see if you're as good as I think you are."

  "I am," Bianca said solemnly, shaking the director's hand.

  Impeccable is the right word, Ellery thought as Bianca glided from the room. I wonder if she is aware of just how gifted she is. The console buzzed.

  "It's your daughter, Doctor Jensen." Leann’s voice held a hint of laughter. "She's bouncing."

  Grinning at her assistant's descriptive warning, Ellery picked up the phone. "Victoria Danielle, stop bouncing," she said with mock sternness. In the background she could hear her sister Margaret telling her son Patrick the same thing. The exuberance of her sixteen-year-old daughter pounded against her eardrums. Ellery held the phone away from her ear as she listened.

  "John said he'd go with us, Mama, and Aunt Margaret said Patrick could go! Pleeez, Mama? Mr. Wyland said I could learn, too, since Dane is my best friend! Pleeez, Mama?"

  "Let me talk to your brother, Victoria." A deeper voice came on the line. "John, what exactly is this Chi she's talking about?"

  "Some kind of exercise Mr. Wyland learned on his last archaeological trip to the Orient."

  "Is it dangerous?"

  "Nah. He says it's great discipline for the mind and body." John chuckled. "Just what Vickie needs, I'd say." The girl's howl of protest sounded in the background. Her brother's voice turned serious. "I won't let anything happen to her, Mom. You know that."

  Indeed she did. Vickie had been a change-of-life baby. Her two brothers, several years older, spoiled her unmercifully but watched her like eagles watch their eaglets. John would take care of her. Ellery sighed. "Put her back on the phone."

  "Did you say I can go, Mama?" Again, exuberance blasted.

  "On one condition: You mind your brother and do what he tells you."

  "Can Dane stay for dinner when we get back? Maybe overnight?"

  "Dinner, Victoria. Not overnight. See if Mr. Wyland would like to have dinner with us, too. Okay?"

  "Okay. Thank you, Mama. Mama?"

  "Yes."

  "Will you just think about overnight? They have to leave tomorrow for a long, long time. Years, maybe. Please think about it. I love you. 'Bye."

  The phone went dead. Ellery shook her head as she turned toward the window. Born a month apart, growing up next door to each other, Victoria and Dane had been inseparable as children, had overnighted many times. She recalled how hard her daughter had cried when the Wylands moved to New York. She was eleven years old and swore she would never have another best friend like Dane Wyland. Harry Wyland made infrequent business trips back to San Francisco but when he came, he always brought his son and the best friends spent at least a day together. Their last overnight had been four years ago. Time passes too fast and children forget they grow older, she thought. Especially best friends.

  She leaned against the windowsill. Puffed-cotton clouds rode high in the bright blue sky. At Concentration Point, a stray tendril of mist curled through the limbs of the old weeping willow and swirled up across the soft pink of a miniature rose. As she watched, even that leftover grayness vanished. She was glad for that.

  In the distance, water arrowed from the prow of the Tartarus cruiser. Her new protégé had left the island. She turned away from the window. It was time to get to work.

  Chapter 4

  Bianca Raborman

  Bianca leaned against the rail of the speeding boat, arm hugging arm against the cold wind. She loosened her hair. Dampened with salt spray, it whipped around her face. She turned to look at the rocky island jutting out of the cold waters, its lighthouse gleaming in the noonday sun.

  Pelican Island's long history of democratic ingenuity had always intrigued her. First sighted by the Spanish in 1772, the presence of a large colony of brown pelicans on the rocky island prompted the name of Álcatraces—pelican, most often referred to by its English name Alcatraz. The island, which came under U.S. control in 1850, became the site of the first U.S. fort on the West Coast and was used as a U.S. military prison from 1859 until 1934, when it became a federal prison housing the most dangerous criminals; it was closed in 1963. Nicknamed "The Rock," it was a symbol of the impregnable fortress prison with maximum security and strict discipline.

  Over the centuries, a motley crew indeed had called it home: batteries and barracks in anticipation of civil revolt, Spanish-American war prisoners, army deserters, Native Americans; all had spent their isolated time there. The Twentieth Century watched it transform from a military prison to a federal prison to a must see tourist attraction. A creative—and profitable—enterprise, Bianca thought. As was everything else associated with that chunk of real estate.

  In 2014, after a little political maneuvering, Congress removed the island’s National Park status. Alcatraz no longer existed; Pelican Island once more reigned. Less than a month later, tax rolls listed the Tartarus Foundation as legal owner. Tartarus cleaned the island of old buildings, installed a new power and water system, ferried in yards of soil, planted exotic trees and gardens, and built the most advanced research center in the world: twelve cream colored buildings, twelve science disciplines.

  In one of those buildings, Doctor Victor Dakota had created a highly specialized zygote and implanted it into his wife's womb, and delivered the famous Dakota twins; in another, the power grid had been devised; yet another housed the team developing organic homes for mini-environment living. The scientists who worked in those structures were the ablest of all in their field, and now she had been added to that roster.

  Bianca sucked in cold air.

  A long way, this, from Connecticut tobacco and a vain old woman. Her mouth tightened as she thought of Lydia Raborman. Such a pathetic female, her mother. Lydia's love affair with youth had put her in the hospital on more than one occasion and probably would again. Still, she made her trips to Washington and climbed the marble steps of Lamont Towers for one more face lift, one more butt pad. Surgical complications, Doctor Lamont always explained smoothly after each hospital confinement, but Bianca knew better. Raborman money would have been the honest answer. She trembled at the sudden surge of fury flooding into her mind. If it hadn't been for Doctor Frederick Lamont, Cage Honeycutt would never have looked twice at Lydia, would never have . . .

  Her head jerked to and fro with denial. Bit by bit, she forced the rage back into its black hole. Bit by bit, she regained her flush of pleasure at being hired by Ellery Jensen. Only then did she realize she was shivering uncontrollably, chilled to the bone by the whipping wind and spray. She went below deck to the cabin warmth, removed her damp coat, and hung it up. Opening her attaché, Bianca pulled out a thick folder labeled Dakota. Much of the information in the file had been gathered for her doctoral thesis. However, her intense curiosity about the Dakota regime soon changed to envious wonder and she had continued to add to the folder everything she could get her hands on, no matter how minuscule or unimportant it seemed.

  She glanced casually at newspaper clippings: the famous twins on their first birthday, Selena Dakota's coming out party, the Presidential Inaugural Ball when Jeremiah Dakota was seventeen. The young man’s boldly stated political comments had sparked a heated exchange between President Garland and Doctor Victor Dakota. In a show of camaraderie, they shook hands for reporters, but the afterglow of anger was clearly visible on their faces.

  A color photograph from a newspaper dated April 3, 2090 dropped to the floor. Bianca leaned down and picked it up. She studied the thirty-five year old photo sealed in a protective cover. A petite woman with brilliant blue eyes and corn gold hair faced a handsome Nordic blond; they toasted each other with champagne, eyes wide and mouths smiling.

  She hasn't changed much, Bianca thought. Her figure is a little thicker, the face has a few more crow's feet,
and her hair is beginning to silver, but the energy is still there—and the passion.

  The copy below the picture glowingly reported the marriage of Ellery Magdalena Dakota Forester to Clinton Arly Jensen, then summarized Ellery's accomplishments to date in genetics advancement: a Nobel Prize in 2088 and 2089. The week before the wedding, she had taken the prestigious award for the third year in a row.

  "I'd be smiling, too, with that under my belt," Bianca muttered to herself. "I don't know any other twenty-nine year old with that kind of record."

  Where had she picked up this rare bit of Dakotan background? She turned the clipping over and read her pasted note. 2116: Clipper Museum of History. She chuckled as the image of dusty file cabinets in the museum's storage room flashed across her mind. She had almost been caught taking this one from the files. A throb of pleasure darted across her groin as she remembered the museum guard's startled arousal when she pressed against him. How quickly he had forgotten why he had stopped her. Bianca set the picture aside and turned back to the clippings.

  She glanced at first one, then another: Matthew Jensen's birth in 2096, John's three years after. Ten years later, the daughter was born. God, what a shock that must have been, Bianca thought. Even for a woman like Ellery Jensen.

  Clint Jensen's obituary was simple. Three lines about his drowning in a boating accident and a half column on his position as husband of Ellery Dakota Forester—firstborn of the noted Dakota twin, Selena Victoria Dakota. I wonder how he felt about that? Bianca thought. Living his whole life as the husband of.

  She listened to the purr of engines and the slap of water against the hull and her thoughts returned to Pelican Island. At one point in the conversation, a subtle change had flitted across Ellery's face—vanishing almost as quickly as it had come. What had caused that change? What was it she had said? Closing her eyes, Bianca envisioned the morning interview. Her eyes flew open. The grandmother's pride. That's when the pain and sadness had crossed Ellery's face. Strong emotions, those. Strong enough to break through Doctor Jensen's calm exterior. She glanced at her collected information. She didn't recall reading anything that would explain such reactions. Could she have overlooked it in the welter of notes and clippings she had gathered? She stared at the dossier. Impossible, she thought. She would never have missed something like that. Obviously, there was more to this saga than she had so far ferreted out.