by Zac Brewer
I continued, my steps more urgent, around the back of the house to the extension that my parents had added a few years ago—their lab. Or rather, where their lab had been the last time I’d been home. It wasn’t there anymore. Just ash and soot and the melted remnants of equipment and experiments.
When I lifted my eyes from the lab, I got the full view of the house, and my heart sank even farther into my stomach. The back of the house stood open to the elements, its insides blackened like the rotten core of an apple. I climbed the rubble to the house and then pulled myself up onto the main floor until I was standing in the breakfast nook. A glass of water, its contents now black, sat on the table. The kitchen still looked as it had the last time I’d stepped into it. Only now it was a ruined memory.
My lungs grew tighter with every step. The heat from the fire had melted our television set. The spines of the books in the bookcase next to it were all stained from smoke. I reached for my mother’s autographed copy of Carrie. It had been a gift to her from my father. Her favorite book autographed by her favorite author. Somehow, its spine was cleaner than the rest, like some special force field had protected it from the smoke damage. When I lifted the book from the shelf, another tome caught my eye. It was my father’s journal, just where it had always been when it wasn’t in use. Every detail of his biggest project—his life’s dream—was contained within the pages of this book. His notes filled every page, and where his stopped, my mother’s notes began. They had been a team, the two of them. Intelligent minds, both.
His research was brilliant and had so many potential applications, both in the military and out. With my mother’s input on bioluminescent plants, he was well on his way to developing eye drops that would allow the user to see in the dark, eliminating the need for costly night vision goggles and enabling underwater explorers to see more broadly in their ocean expeditions. His invention would reduce costs across the board and change the world forever. It would save lives.
Only now the journal was covered with soot and the stain of unfinished progress. I picked up the book and shook the droplets of water and debris from its cover. It was coming with me. I couldn’t leave it here. I could leave almost anything, but not this.
On the next shelf up was a family photo we’d just had done a few weeks before. I took it down and wiped the soot from the glass. Grace and I sat in chairs in front of our parents. My father stood to my mother’s left, his hand placed awkwardly on her shoulder. Anyone else looking at the photo might have seen a nice, normal family. But I could see the grimace on my mother’s lips at my father’s touch. I could see the way that Grace’s chair had been moved just slightly away from mine right before the photo was taken. We were all dressed in our finest, but no one seemed happy. The look in my parents’ eyes was one of pain. The look in mine was confusion. Grace sat stoic—a perfect statue in a garden of chaos.
The morning of that photo had been very tense. My parents had been arguing after some woman had come to the front door and my father had told her to leave. I stood in the foyer, listening to the words that were hurled back and forth between my mom and dad, but not really understanding them. What I did understand was the expression on my mother’s face when she noticed me. She wanted me to leave. So that’s just what I did.
That afternoon, we’d ridden in silence to the photographer’s studio. Fight or no fight, my dad wasn’t one to miss an appointment. I didn’t speak while we were getting arranged into the perfect family pose. All I kept thinking about was the look in my mom’s eyes when she’d noticed me eavesdropping that morning, and how much it had hurt to wonder if she’d regretted adopting me.
Strange where your mind takes you sometimes. Their argument wasn’t about me—I don’t think so, anyway—but I brought it to that place regardless.
I returned the photo to the shelf, laying it facedown.
Without allowing myself to set foot upstairs or to give myself over to the pain that was burning its way up from the depths of my soul, I opened the front door and stepped outside. My mind was blank. They were dead. They were really dead. What would I do now? Who would be my family?
I don’t remember sliding into the passenger seat of Viktor’s car or closing the door. The next thing I knew, we were barreling down the road back to Viktor’s house, and I was clutching the journal to my chest, not caring that I’d never get the smell of the fire out of my school uniform . . . or out of my memory.
As we pulled through the gate onto Viktor’s long, paved driveway, I flipped through the journal. My thumb stopped at a spot two-thirds of the way in, where I could see that several pages had been torn from the book. My father was a brilliant scientist, but he did have his quirks. One of those quirks was that he tended to be a bit obsessive-compulsive when it came to his work. The way he took notes was all about order and precision. He would just as soon toss a journal out and get a new one than damage one and continue to work in it. So what had happened to these pages? Someone must have taken them, but who?
The car came to a stop in front of the redbrick house, and I glanced up at a window on the second floor. Grace was standing there, looking out through the glass, watching the car like she was sad to see us return. I set my jaw as I exited the car, and Grace met my eyes with a snarl.
I didn’t know what her problem was.
Viktor called to me from the back of the car. “Adrien, why don’t you help me out with these bags?”
Before I could react, Grace’s suitcase came flying through the air toward me. I stepped aside and let it sail past. I was more than happy to carry my own bag, but there was no way I was doing anything for her.
The suitcase popped open when it hit the ground. Grace’s clothes were scattered all over the driveway. From the look on his face, I could tell that Viktor was not nearly as amused as I was. Reluctantly, I started picking up the mess. That’s when I saw it. A small, yellowed piece of paper. There was no writing on it, but I recognized that paper immediately.
I opened my father’s journal and slipped the blank paper into place. The tear on the side of the paper from my sister’s suitcase matched one of the missing pages in the journal perfectly. Grace had taken the pages. I had no idea where the others were or why she had them, but I was damn well going to find out.
Viktor’s home was lovely and large—the perfect place to hold a memorial service for my parents, Allen and Claudia Dane. Two of the world’s most brilliant scientists, or at least they were in my mind. I had foolishly thought there would be a funeral, with bodies. But the fire had been so hot that there was nothing much left of our parents’ remains to put in a coffin. Rightly, and horrifically, what remains were found and identified were cremated. On the day of the service, I was sitting on the arm of the loveseat in Viktor’s great room, staring at the two urns on the mantel.
Grace was on the other side of the room, a cup of steaming tea in her hand, chatting with family members I only recognized from photographs. She was dressed in a tasteful black skirt and a dark blue blouse, her flowing black curls twisted into a tight bun at the back of her head. Even in grief, she was perfectly put together. I, meanwhile, felt woefully underdressed. I’d pulled a pair of black slacks from my duffel bag that morning but hadn’t ironed them, and then had thrown on a dark gray V-neck sweater. It was good enough. Dad would have said it was good enough. Besides, I doubted the dead really gave much of a crap over what people were wearing when they came to stare at the jars that held their remains.
Slipping my cell phone from my pants pocket, I noted the time and wished it would inch along a little faster. Several texts were waiting for me to respond, but they would have to wait. Right now, I just wanted to be left alone.
As quietly as I could manage, I slipped off the arm of the loveseat and made my way to the stairs. But just as I was about to get away, a familiar voice whispered harshly to me, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Turning to meet my sister’s bitter gaze, I rolled my eyes. “Upstairs. What’s it look like?”<
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“You’re supposed to talk to people. You haven’t spoken to anyone. I’m doing everything.” Her last word came out biting, but I didn’t flinch.
Everything. Because there was so much to do when it came to staring at jars filled with ash and munching on appetizers. I sighed. “And you’re doing a fine job of it, too.”
“Adrien.” For a moment, her voice sounded eerily like Mom’s did whenever she meant business. The sound of it startled me slightly.
“What do you want me to do?”
She looked aghast. “Talk to people. Share memories with them about Mom and Dad. Act like a normal person for once.”
I shrugged. “Why should I talk to anyone? They’re not here to see me. They’re here to look at urns.”
“Because it might help them to feel better.”
“Make them feel better? I don’t give a damn about making them feel better, Grace. They didn’t just lose their parents in a freak explosion. They didn’t just have the only family they’ve ever known ripped away from them, leaving them with nothing but a heartless, robotic b—” I cut my words off the moment I noticed Viktor watching us from the other room. I wouldn’t regret calling Grace the word that was locked inside my mind, but I might regret letting him overhear it.
My voice caught in my throat. “Who’s going to help me?”
“Help yourself.” She practically spit the words in my direction.
“That’s what I was doing before you so rudely interrupted me.” I took two steps up before pausing and looking back at her. “But while I have your attention: I know you took those pages from Dad’s journal. I want them back.”
“No.”
I raised an eyebrow. I’d half expected her to ask me what I was talking about. “So you don’t deny you took them?”
“I have no reason to keep secrets. Do you?” She folded her arms and stared me down.
“Why did you take those pages? What’s on them?” I could feel the heat rising in my face.
“That is none of your business.”
“What do you mean?” I took a step closer to her.
“Let’s just say it’s a family matter.” She pointed toward the group of people in the living room. “Now get your butt back in that room and play the gracious host.”
“You’re a real piece of work, Grace.” Turning away, I continued my ascent.
As I reached the top of the staircase, she said, “Yes. I suppose I am. But at least I have the decency to treat our guests with the respect they deserve at a funeral.”
“Memorial service. There wasn’t enough of Mom and Dad left for a funeral. Remember?” I continued down the hall without so much as another glance back in her direction.
Twenty minutes later, as I lay submerged in hot water up to my chin in a large slipper tub, a soft knock came at the door. My godfather’s voice soon followed. “Adrien? Might I have a word with you when you’re finished?”
“You can come in, Viktor. I’m dressed.” And dressed I was. Still wearing my slacks, my sweater, my shoes and socks. But soaking in a tub and wishing the world away. For how long, I wasn’t sure. Maybe forever. Maybe just for the moment.
The door swung open slowly and Viktor popped his head in before stepping fully inside and closing the door behind him. He looked down at me and, grabbing a stool from the vanity, took a seat beside the tub. “It would seem you’ve forgotten an important step in the bathing process. Most people remove their clothing before getting into the water. Are you all right?”
“No.” My words were flat as they left my lips. No feeling, no pain. They just were—the way that gravity was. Existing. But not something anyone ever really gave much thought to. “No. I’m not all right. I’m not exactly sure what I am. But I’m most definitely not all right.”
Viktor’s frown deepened. “Perhaps you should stay with Julian and me for a while, until you can grieve and get your head around all that’s happened.”
I shook my head slowly. “No. I want to go back to school. Only . . .”
“Only what?”
I met Viktor’s eyes, the lump in my throat growing exponentially. How could I tell him what I wanted to do? How could I take from him another family member, when he’d just lost my parents, too? I swallowed hard, finding my courage in the warmth of the water. “Only I don’t want to go back to the Wills Institute. I want to go somewhere else. A different boarding school, far away from here. Is that okay?”
Viktor didn’t miss a beat. He had always been that way—supportive, at a moment’s notice. It was one of the many things that I had always admired about him. “It’s perfectly all right. If that’s what you want. But can I ask why?”
I sank down into the water some more until it was covering my chin. “I want to be as far away from Grace as I can possibly get.”
Viktor grew silent for a moment. From the look in his eyes, I could tell that he wasn’t surprised by my request, just disappointed in it. “I see.”
“No, you don’t. You think I’m pushing away the only family that I have left because I’m in mourning or something. But that’s not it. Grace may be my adopted sister, but she’s not family to me, Viktor. She’s not even human. Has she shed a single tear since finding out Mom and Dad died?” I knew I was raising my voice, but I didn’t care.
“Have you?” Viktor’s words gave me a start. When he continued, he placed a hand on my shoulder, his fingers dipping into the water. “I’m just saying, we all grieve—”
“I know, I know. We all grieve in our own ways.” I rolled my eyes. “She cried buckets in the common room when she got the letter saying her stupid hamster died. And last year when that girl in our class died in a car accident, she was almost inconsolable at her funeral. They weren’t even friends, Viktor. The only difference between then and now is that no one popular is watching this time. As soon as we get back to school . . . you just wait. The waterworks will be in full service then.”
I was just so done with this place. So done with my sister and the way that she was. “She hates me, y’know. She always has. From the first moment Mom and Dad brought me home, she’s made her feelings toward me very clear. She’s not normal.”
Viktor pulled his hand from my shoulder and dried it on a nearby towel. “There is no such thing as ‘normal.’ But yes, I suppose your sister is unusual. You both are. Extremely gifted, intelligent, curious young minds. Of course, it would be nice if you’d apply yourself more, so that the rest of the world could see what I see. What your parents saw. You’re better than Cs, Adrien.”
I frowned. “Are we really going to have this conversation now, Viktor?”
He stood up and walked over to the basin, putting the towel on the counter. He turned around, leaning against the cabinet. “There aren’t many thirteen-year-olds who could carry themselves through school while living away from their parents with barely a casual shrug. In that regard, neither of you is so-called normal. I think that’s why you struggle to get along. You’re so similar, but neither of you can see those similarities. Grace dives into her work, hiding between the pages of her textbooks. You hide in the only way you know how, by defiantly refusing to apply yourself. But the truth is, Adrien, you’re just as bright as your sister.”
I couldn’t take any more. I sank down into the water, letting it cover my head. Bubbles escaped my lips as I blew air out of them. I hoped that by sheer force of will I might be able to trigger some dormant gene that had lingered hidden in human DNA ever since we evolved from slimy swamp creatures, and spontaneously develop gills.
Before long, I felt Viktor’s hand in my hair, gently pulling me back into the world of the air breathers. As if there had been no interruption at all, he continued, “It’s like placing magnets together, end to end. They’re two of the same exact thing, but they resist being close to each other. Why?”
A heavy sigh escaped my lungs. “If you’re looking for the scientific explanation, it’s because of their polarity. But to follow your metaphor, they resist each othe
r because, on the atomic level, the particles that make up the metal in the magnets are incompatible. The subatomic particles push against one another until the movement creates enough force to push the other magnet away. Much like Grace has been pushing me away our entire lives.”
His voice quieted for a moment. “But it’s only the like poles that repel each other. You see what I’m saying?”
“It’s not like I didn’t try with Grace when we were kids. I wanted a sister. I wanted a family. But she kept pushing me out. I did everything I could think of to earn her approval, her affection. But she cut me off at every turn. And now that Mom and Dad are gone, I’m done. I just can’t try anymore. I want to be away from her, Viktor. I need to.” I held his gaze with determination, refusing to budge on the issue.
Viktor sighed, at last giving in to my request. Supportive, as always, even when he didn’t really agree. “If that’s what you think you need for the moment, I’ll make the necessary arrangements. But I do hope this arrangement is a temporary one.”
“Don’t count on it.”
As Viktor stood and moved back out the door, I pulled the plug on the tub and watched the water swirl into a vortex and down the drain.
That was four years ago. I haven’t forgotten a thing.
CHAPTER 2
ACTIVATED COMPLEX:
A transitional structure that forms between the reactants of a chemical reaction and breaks down to form the products
I stepped out of the locker room shower and toweled off before dressing in my street clothes and heading back to my dorm room. It was the Thursday before classes started, and I figured I was safe not wearing my uniform around campus, at least until Monday. Four years later, and some things hadn’t changed.