Stasis (Part 2): Iterate

by E. W. Osborne

  This is how old my father would be if he’d lived. What? Mid-sixties? Closing in on seventy?

  When he finally spoke, his voice came out in a rasp. “And that’s everything? Everything you can think of?” he asked without looking at her.

  “Like I said, I’ve told you everything that I can remember the order in which it happened. The escalation is correct, linear almost. I can show you the brain scans if you don’t believe me about that, though that’ll be more difficult.”

  Wesley waved her away, his bushy eyebrows shadowing his eyes. He topped up the glass with a few drops of whiskey, seemingly more for something to do than because he was running low. She noted the empty bottles scattered around the room.

  “You’re not a real doctor, though, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a clinical psychiatrist,” she replied tightly.

  “So you cut people with your words and expertly timed grunts instead of scalpels.”

  Penelope slipped on her psychiatrist hat. Not only was she interested in what he said next, but how he went about answering her. He seemed to enjoy antagonizing her but brilliant people were notoriously hard to work with. It could be a clue to how much of the brilliant scientist was left. “Do you have any initial thoughts about it?”

  He snorted, his bristly mustache moving with the force. “Other than I fucking told you so?”

  “What did you tell me?” She frowned, thrown off balance by his remark. He tipped the entire glass of whiskey back and slammed it down on the notched table beside him.

  “What lies did Master Steele spread about me, then?”

  Penelope was even further taken aback. She’d figured the topic would come up eventually, but not straight away. “I’m not sure exactly what you mean. I vaguely remember you from when I was younger. Mom told me you and my father met in college, were instant friends…”

  Wesley snorted again but didn’t interrupt.

  She squinted at him, unable to read the subtle changes in his expression as well as she’d like. Still, she threw a breadcrumb out just in case. “He always said you were smarter than him.”

  His eyes flicked up to hers for a second before looking away. “He was always a great liar. I was more creative but what’s creativity without execution? Oh! And a manipulator! Such a manipulator. Puppeteer Steele. What else?”

  She struggled to remember she and her father ever really talking about his partner. “I remember seeing you at the plant one time when all of us came to visit him at work. You were inside this vast glass space, I guess a static-free room. I was only little, but it looked like you were trapped in a fishbowl. My father said you were exploring the human mind. I remember thinking how fascinating that was.” Penelope almost added that that trip was one of the driving forces that pushed her toward psychiatry, but figured the sentiment would be lost on the old man.

  “What else?” he yawned.

  “I don’t know. He mentioned you in his autobiography. I don’t know if you read that before you…”

  “What else?”

  Less inclined to keep her temper, she snapped again. “How about you tell me what it is you’re fishing for?”

  “Goddamnit, what did he tell you about me leaving? What lies did he tell you about why I left?”

  Penelope pressed her lips together. Those had been dark days in the Steele household, the foundation on which she could trace back her mother’s suicide. Her father, a normally dark and moody man, had been downright thunderous for weeks.

  “He never talked about it. What little I know comes from hearing their arguments through the walls and things I’ve read after the fact. We didn’t exactly have a great relationship.”

  Wesley sneered, his lip curling in disgust. “Probably for the best. Couldn’t trust him to tell you the sky was blue.”

  She rolled her shoulders back and fought the feeling the small, dark walls of the cabin were closing in. “Why did you leave? It wasn’t because you wanted to charge for the Seeds?”

  In a fit of rage, he threw the glass across the room, shattering it against the far wall. When he spoke, his voice was as calm as if nothing had happened. “Like I was the greedy bastard. No. This is on him. This is why I left. This is the very thing I was afraid of.”

  Penelope was used to volatile people. Still, her heart skipped, not because of the glass but this revelation. “What do you mean? You honestly think this does have something to do with…”

  Wesley was already on his feet, gathering a broom and dustpan to sweep up the shards of glass. “Of course it fucking does.”

  “But how? Why?”

  He laughed, the first true laugh she’d heard from him. His back and shoulders shook as he answered. “The answer to the first is much easier to explain than the second. The second is one philosophers have tried to answer for eons. If you’re able to tell me that, then you’re a better man than I.”

  Penelope was starting to lose the last shred of patience she had left. “Listen, Wesley. With my father dead, you were the only person who I could think to come to. But I understand you’ve been out in these woods for a long time. Maybe it would be better if…” She started to stand, already making her excuses to leave.

  “My father, my father,” he mocked.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Steele. And his heart was about as warm as a cast-iron rod of steel, wasn’t it? Too bad you can’t just ask him.” He tipped the glass into a container that jingled with a dozen other broken shards. “Then again, it’s not like you can go ask your brother either, is it?” he muttered, an edge of contempt to his voice.

  It was enough to give her pause. He’d broken from the company and fled to the forest nearly ten years before she’d helped Cameron attack Steele Industries. His bitterness surprised her. “So you aren’t as disconnected as you’d like me to think.”

  “Or as senile,” he added with a knowing look. He straightened for the first time and smoothed his hair back.

  Penelope realized that while a bit unkempt, in this position, he looked almost presentable. He might be remote, but he wasn’t cut off. The whole thing had been an act. She slammed the metal cup down, sloshing water everywhere. It was better than that throw it at the old guy’s head.

  “Do you know what I had to do to get here? Why would you… how could you…” She dug her fingernails into the flesh of her palm when he dismissed her again.

  Wesley opened the iron furnace, a waft of heat hitting Penelope from feet away. He casually threw another log inside and shut the door with a clang. He stared into the growing inferno, hands stuffed into his filthy jean pockets.

  “Three things. You aren’t going crazy.”

  “Good to know,” she muttered, considering the source.

  “I’ll need to talk to your doctor friend, Carl.”

  “It’s Cameron and I told you, he dropped off the radar a week ago. I wouldn’t know how to find him if I could.”

  Wesley didn’t seem to care about this tiny hurdle and finished his list, catching her gaze. He seemed even more switched on with the firelight flickering in the whites of his eyes.

  “Unless you’re as useless as nipples on a man, you haven’t told me everything.”

  She bristled at both accusations. “I’ve told you everything I know. Why wouldn’t I?”

  He rounded on her, moving faster than his years should’ve allowed. “Nothing roused them? Nothing pulled them away from that stupor? Even for a moment?”

  Penelope rocked back, blinking. She had left that part out, mostly to preserve Cameron’s credibility. Even though she’d witnessed the stunning reactions, it made him sound insane. A part of her even wondered if Cameron hadn’t trained them somehow, but how could Wesley have known? “There was a word. Cam said he got it from a friend in New York who discovered it.”

  Wesley clapped a filthy hand over her mouth. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. If it’s what I think it is, you don’t want that word uttered anywhere near you.”

&nb
sp; CHAPTER SIX

  New York City, NY

  June 9th

  CHRISTOPHER’S first few days in the workforce had been… odd, he decided. As he settled into the bench seat of the car, quickly putting distance between him and the massive industrial complex that bore his name, he finally got a chance to reflect on the last few days.

  His worlds were colliding. The noose he’d tied around his own neck was tightening. He knew he had to come clean eventually, to both Jamie and Kristine, but not yet. One more week of peace before he dropped those particular bombs. He could keep it going that much longer.

  He couldn’t decide which was worse. His girlfriend being the one to first report on the catatonic curse or keeping his family history from her for years. One could blow up his new-found career and income, not to mention any future relationship with his remaining family members. The other… well, he didn’t want to think about that.

  The catatonic curse. Jamie had pulled him into a meeting on that very first day and told him that the company was already getting ahead of the news.

  “It’s pre-emptive, that’s all,” he’d insisted with a wave of his empty hands. “No one has directly accused Steele Industries of anything, but you know how these things go.”

  Christopher followed his lead down the hall toward Jamie’s office, but he wasn’t following this. “Not really. What do you mean?”

  Jamie laughed and clapped him on the back. “Of course you don’t. First lesson,” he said, sliding his arm around Christopher’s shoulders. “A company our size gets sued a hundred times a day. Maybe a thousand, I don’t know. But we’re a massive target for every scammer out there.”

  “I guess… yeah. I’d never thought about that, but it makes sense.”

  “Our legal department is nearly twice the size of research, believe it or not,” Jamie nodded. “But still, it’s a delicate topic. We don’t want to bring any attention to our…” He paused, lifting his hand and rubbing the back of his neck as he searched for the right turn of phrase.

  “Monitoring?” Christopher suggested.

  Jamie had given him an appreciative look, almost fatherly. “I was going to say quelling, but either would work. I’ve been keeping an eye on it myself, but I can trust you to help me out. It’s far from strenuous work. Plus, it’ll give me a chance to show you around the place.”

  Christopher had taken the job out of desperation, without knowing what to expect. But Jamie had done more than give him a handout out of familial obligation. He’d been amazing, actually. The pair had lived in a world of neutrality, their age difference enough of a barrier they’d never found a common ground on which to build a relationship. For the first time in his life, he’d felt a genuine brotherly connection with him. Which was good, because he’d been practically glued to him for two days straight. With no particular skill set, Christopher had expected to be thrown into a basic, hourly position. At the very most, he’d thought he might have to play errand boy and do ridiculous things for his brother. What he didn’t expect was becoming Jamie’s right hand man.

  I think this’ll work out, he thought as he watched as the rural countryside slowly morphed into civilization. The suburbs bled out miles from the city. On large overpasses, he and thousands of others flew past homes, lives, other worlds he could barely imagine. He tried not to think about it too much, especially back home in the city.

  All the different threads trailing behind each and every person he walked past on the sidewalk became overwhelming. A son. A daughter. Someone loved. A person hated. Behind every window and every door existed someone with as much a life as him. Even the idea of that, blew his mind. In fact, it threatened to paralyze him if he allowed himself to dwell on it too long.

  Christopher rested his head against the padded seat and closed his eyes. The hum of the car, the slow shifting and merging rocked him into a dull slumber. As the din of the city grew louder around him, he was finally stirred.

  He blinked awake, trying to get his bearings, realizing with a start that he was only a block away from the house.

  “Shit! Stop here!” he yelled at the navigation controls. The last thing he wanted was for Kristine to see him climb out of an expensive car looking fresh and clean. It wouldn’t take an investigative reporter to figure out something was up.

  As quickly as it could, the car pulled to the side of the street, locks only releasing the moment it was fully stopped. With a glance up and down the sidewalk to make sure the coast was clear, Christopher jumped out with his bag. The car zoomed away and out of site.

  He felt buoyed by the way his life had turned. For the first time in years, he felt like he was deliberately moving forward. There was purpose to his life, a path in front of him. He and Kristine were going to be all right.

  After grabbing a bunch of flowers from a street stall, he climbed their stairs two at a time, smiling to himself. Distance really does make the heart grow fonder, I guess. He couldn’t believe how excited he was to see her.

  There was a thump followed by a groan in the apartment as he unlocked the door. He peeked around the edge of the door to see Kristine balancing on one foot as she rubbed her shin.

  “Are you okay?” he asked as he walked in. His voice trailed away as he fully took in the scene she’d prepared.

  Dozens of lit candles adorned every surface of their apartment. Kristine froze, a beautiful smile spreading across her face. Her hair was smoothed back and pinned behind her head, the headband matching a floral dress he’d never seen.

  “Welcome home!” she declared with a flourish. She set down the metal step ladder she’d been struggling with and rushed into his open arms.

  “What have you done?” he laughed as they hugged.

  “A little surprise,” she mumbled into his chest.

  “I’d say. You’re gonna set off the smoke detector.”

  She pushed away from his chest with a shake of the head. “Already did. That’s what I was fixing.” She pointed to the alarm on the high ceiling, now hanging open with a disconnected wire dangling.

  “How was work? Do you like your new job?”

  He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. “It’s fine. I’d rather hear about what you’ve been up to. Your video has really taken off, hasn’t it?”

  She waved him away, picking at an invisible bit of dirt under her nail. “Yeah, it’s okay,” she replied, clearly not in the mood to talk about it at all. “Anyway! Are you hungry? You must be starving. They probably don’t feed you very well up there, do they?”

  Christopher still couldn’t believe the idyllic scene he’d stumbled into. Kristine was the furthest thing from a domestic goddess, not that it ever bothered him. He realized he was standing with his mouth agape.

  “I, uh. Yeah, I could eat. Do you want to go to the diner or order in?”

  Kristine screwed up her face. “I made dinner,” she replied, pointing downstairs. “I just have to get it.”

  Christopher dropped his bag and grabbed her elbow as she glided past. “But you look so amazing, I have to show you off. ”

  “It’s all ready, I just need to bring it up,” she said, trying to push by.

  He took a step back and gave her an exaggerated look. “You seriously made dinner? You. All by yourself with ingredients that didn’t come from a can.”

  She pursed her lips in the most adorable way and gave him a little slap. “Some of it was canned and sure, Mrs. Janis might’ve helped me a little bit.”

  “Let’s go for drinks after dinner at least,” he begged.

  Her expression shifted a tiny amount, to something he couldn’t quite read. She rubbed his arm and recovered. “Sure. We’ll talk about it. See if you’re feeling up to it after we eat.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want any help?”

  She stood on her toes and planted a kiss on his lips. “You get comfortable.”

  An hour and three courses later, Christopher leaned back in his seat with a groan. “That was so good, babe. Seriously. Thank Mrs
. Janis for me. She can make one hell of a roast.”

  She wiped her mouth with a paper towel, balled it up, and threw it at his face. She gasped as it rebounded and nearly landed in a candle.

  He laughed and undid the top button of his jeans. “Seriously, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “There’s probably lots of things you don’t know about me,” she smirked.

  “I know things.” Although playful, this conversation was treading dangerously close to an area he wasn’t comfortable going anywhere near. He pushed a couple crumbs around on the table, hoping she’d think he was being shy or coy.

  Kristine rested her chin on top of her knuckles. “Like what?”

  “I know you like your eggs overcooked and your toast underdone. You have an iron tongue that can stand scalding hot coffee. You hate blueberries but like blueberry flavored things.”

  “Anything non-food related?” she snorted.

  Christopher looked to his right. The window facing the street was filthy, but it didn’t matter. He was looking through his memories. “You are ruthless and driven and will go to incredible lengths to shine light on an injustice. You have a soft heart and can’t stand to see anyone or anything in pain. I’ve caught you saving flies and spiders even though you don’t like touching them. You hum when you clean, always the same song. And when you think no one is looking, you…”

  He looked back to her and stopped short. Tears streamed down her face, dark trails of makeup streaking her cheeks. She shoved her chair back and flung herself onto his lap with a cry.

  “That’s the sweetest, most incredible thing,” she sniffed. It took her a moment to regain her composure. She wiped at her cheeks and his, cleaning off the smudged makeup. He loved how vulnerable and beautiful she looked. “I have something for you.”

  Before he could question what or why, she launched herself across the room. He had a brief second to think to himself, She’s acting weird.

  Kristine emerged from the bathroom with a small wrapped gift. She set it down in front of him on the table, almost more proud of it than the entire dinner. The square box was only a few inches long with blue wrapping and a pink ribbon, a color scheme completely lost on him until later.