by Tess Sharpe
The doctor frowns and calls Mr. Masrani over, and I repeat what I said to him.
“I know,” he says. “Don’t worry. They’re being taken care of. I just want you to think about yourself, Claire.” He reaches out to clasp my arm and I flinch, unable to stand the contact.
All I can think about is Justin. Justin dying out there. Justin dying because he came back for me.
I don’t know what to do with any of this. There’s no pros and cons list for this. No way to control this.
This is life. This is death.
This is the cost of progress.
I do what they tell me. I let them stitch me up and shine lights in my eyes and carefully ask me questions I don’t really want to answer. I don’t let them give me any shots, though. I don’t trust them that much.
Finally, they let me go back to the hotel. Beverly is waiting for me in the lobby, and her face is a mask of sorrow.
“Claire,” she says, and then she doesn’t say anything else. Like she doesn’t know how.
I guess that’s okay, because I don’t know what to say either.
My entire body feels slow and bruised and not like my own. Beverly hovers over me as she takes me up to my room.
“I’ve informed the other interns,” she says softly. “Your friends…they wanted to be with you. But I told them you might need some time alone.”
Alone. The word echoes inside me. His words echo inside me. Wouldn’t want to do this alone.
I don’t want to do this alone. I can’t.
But as the elevator doors open and I see Amanda and Ronnie standing there, tears in their eyes, I realize that I don’t have to.
“Claire,” Amanda says, hurrying forward. “Oh my God. This is awful. Are you okay?”
I shake my head.
Ronnie sniffs, wiping away tears. “I’m so sorry, Claire,” she says. “Justin was such a nice guy.”
“Do you want a hug?” Amanda asks, pausing in front of me.
I nod, and she holds me gently, and Ronnie comes forward, taking the other side, and we hold on to each other and it makes it a little better, just for a moment. It’s a brief respite, but it’s something.
And right now, I’ll take anything.
“We can stay with you tonight,” Amanda says, keeping her arm around my shoulders as we walk down the hall. “We’ll get you cleaned up and you can rest.”
“You deserve to rest,” Ronnie says, taking the key from Beverly and opening my room.
The girls take over, and I let them. I trust them. Amanda starts the shower for me, and Ronnie puts on some instrumental music I don’t recognize. I go where I’m directed, feeling so numb and so tired, all the adrenaline, all the fear, all the fight circling through me like water down a drain. I stand under the spray, letting everything wash off me, knowing that it’s not just dirt and blood that’s washing away.
It’s so much more.
When I finally lie down, Amanda and Ronnie quiet next to me, I start to cry, and I tell myself it’ll be the last time.
* * *
Two days later, Mr. Masrani asks to see me. He has someone drive me over to his offices, like they’re afraid to leave me alone.
What do they think is going to happen? Something even worse?
That bitter twist in my chest just keeps growing as I take the elevator to Mr. Masrani’s top-floor office. He’s waiting for me inside, but instead of taking a seat at his desk, he sits down in the antique leather chair next to the one I choose, so we’re next to each other.
I almost wish he’d sat behind the desk.
“How are you feeling, Claire?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” I answer, because what else am I going to say? I’m furious? I’m heartbroken? I’m someone different now, someone who was born anew in that jungle, when blood and survival were my only concerns?
When you narrow yourself down to base instincts, strip everything else away—family, love, loyalty, intelligence—you discover who you truly are.
I’m not sure I like it. But I guess that doesn’t matter. This is where…and who I am now.
There is before, and there is after. Before Isla Nublar. Before finally feeling like I belong. Before Justin.
And now there is after. It’s all grief and anger, this fearful knowledge that I can’t control anything. I’m falling and there’s no ground to hit, no branch to hold on to, no one waiting to catch me.
I have to catch myself.
“I want you to feel like you can come to me,” Mr. Masrani says. “Anything you wish for, you will have. If you want to go home, we can arrange that. If you want to stay, we very much want you to.”
“His mom,” I say, because it’s the thing that’s been circling in my head. “Where is she? Has she…did you…?”
“Ms. Hendricks has been informed,” Mr. Masrani says. “This morning, his…” He pauses, his lips pressing together tightly. “This morning, he was taken off the island so that she could make arrangements.”
So there is nothing left of him in this place anymore. He’ll get to go home. To his mom. And then…
Then he’ll go in the ground. That’s not comforting, to think of him returning to the earth, because nature is what helped steal him. A stone marker, a handful of words carved on them, and that will be it.
His mark on the world. No calling. No great, bright life. Just a headstone and grief in the hearts of those who loved him.
The unfairness of it makes my fingers curl, my nails imprinting half circles in the flesh of my palm.
Will they lie, like they lied with Izzie? Everything Justin told me about his mother…the idea of them being able to buy or scare her off seems impossible. So did they tell her the truth?
What is the truth? I don’t even know. What were Tanya and Eric thinking, stealing from the park? Why would they do it? Risk their entire futures for…what? Money? Did they think they’d get away with it?
The questions spin in my mind like a lopsided top, wobbling more with each one.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Mr. Masrani asks.
I shake my head automatically, hoping that we’re done. That I can go back to my room and hide under my blankets and the world. But of course, it’s never that easy.
“Then I have something to ask you,” Mr. Masrani says, his voice careful and gentle, like he thinks the wrong word or inflection will make me shatter like glass. “And I am sorry I have to ask it of you, but Tanya Skye refuses to speak to Oscar until she speaks to you. And Eric is following his twin’s lead.”
I swallow hard, a piercing stab of anger lighting inside me. “You want me to talk to her?”
“I know it is a lot to ask—” Mr. Masrani starts to say.
“No,” I say, and I don’t even have the grace to be embarrassed at interrupting him. I don’t think I have any kind of grace anymore. Not when I feel this—this raw wound that is my heart. Resolve hardens me. “I’d be happy to talk to her.”
Mr. Masrani shoots me a skeptical glance—does my voice betray me? But then he nods. “I appreciate that, Claire. We very much need to get to the bottom of this.”
I can’t help but think there’s more than just this to get to the bottom of, but my discoveries about Izzie…they seem so far away now. Like another life. Another girl.
Can you change in a handful of breaths? Because I am changed. I feel so different, like my very molecular structure has been altered.
I think I know what it is. This is what it feels like to survive.
I survived, and Justin didn’t. And I can’t quite figure out what I did to deserve that. I want to know why. I want to apply some sort of logic to the situation, run the statistics and probabilities of both of us living versus one of us versus none of us, and then my head spins and my heart hurts and I lose myself in the moments that came bef
ore, because I don’t know what to do with this new identity settling over me. Should I run from it…or embrace it?
“Shall we go now?” I ask, but my voice doesn’t sound like mine. So formal. So steely.
It must show on my face too, because Mr. Masrani’s head tilts. “If you think you’ll be all right.”
“I’ll be fine,” I say again. I wonder whether, if I say it enough—a hundred times? A thousand?—it’ll become true. I can only hope. Or wish. Or pray. Maybe all three.
But as I follow Mr. Masrani out of his office and down to a floor that only he can access, I’m not fine. He presses his hand against the scan pad on the elevator doors; the screen flashes Good afternoon, Mr. Masrani and they slide open.
I follow him out of the elevator, but unlike the other floors, I don’t see any windows here. The lack of natural light makes everything look stark under the fluorescent tubes recessed in the ceiling, the shadows stretching artificially, the dark walls oppressive.
Now I realize where I am: the security floor. The one where they hold people.
Prickles of nerves wash over my shoulders as Mr. Masrani leads me down the hall, where Oscar is waiting, standing outside a locked door, his hands clasped behind him.
His eyebrow arches when he sees us. “Do you think it’s wise to cater to her like this?” he asks in a low voice, and at first I think he’s talking about me. And then I realize no, he’s talking about Tanya.
I clench my fingers, lock my arms, trying so hard to keep from shaking. I want answers. I need them. But seeing Tanya again, after that night, after Justin…
It’s like I’m running and running and I know there’s a cliff coming, but I can’t stop.
“I’ve decided this is the best course of action,” Mr. Masrani says firmly. He turns to me. “Claire, we’ll be on the other side of the frosted glass. We can see through it, but you won’t be able to see us.”
“Like a one-way mirror,” I say. “Just more high-tech.”
“Yes,” he says. “Everything will be recorded. You’ll be in no danger.”
“I’m not worried about that,” I say.
Mr. Masrani folds his arms across his sleek suit. “Do I have to worry about Tanya’s well-being?”
I shake my head. “I fight my battles with words,” I say. “Not fists.”
There’s a flash of emotion across his face—almost a smile in his kind eyes. I wonder if he’s a liar. Is everyone? I used to not think so, but now I don’t know. Everything’s topsy-turvy. Will it ever be right again?
“Are you ready?”
I nod. Oscar reaches forward and grabs the doorknob, unlocks it, and swings it open for me.
Tanya’s sitting at a table. There’s a cot in one corner and a bottle of water on the table in front of her, an empty chair on the other side. She looks up as I enter the room, and even as angry as I am, I still feel a twinge when I see the dark, puffy circles under her eyes. She’s been crying. Maybe for hours.
I should be glad. But I’m not.
Taking the chair across the table from her, I sit down. I fold my hands and lean forward, the stainless steel cool on my forearms, because I’m afraid if I don’t keep them there, I might go back on my word about not using my fists.
Tanya doesn’t say anything, but a tear slips down her cheek as our eyes meet.
“You’re really going to make me start this?” I ask. I let out a harsh breath as more tears well up in her eyes. “Okay. Fine. What do you want to tell me?”
“I want to apologize,” Tanya says—more like croaks. Her voice sounds like mine did that night as I screamed myself hoarse. Has she done the same, trapped in here like one of the Raptors? “I’m so sorry, Claire. Eric is too. Both of us…we never meant for this to happen.”
“What did you expect?” I bite out. “You’re a thief and you’re a liar, and I still cannot figure out why you would do this…why you would risk it.”
There’s a long pause. Then Tanya whispers, “I have my reasons.”
“If you were actually sorry, you would tell me,” I say. “You would tell me what Justin died for. Money? Did someone promise you a job?”
“God, no!” Tanya says, visibly horrified.
“Then what?” I ask. “His blood is on your hands.” My voice shakes. “He died in my arms. He was scared and he was so hurt and he was trying so hard to hold on and he couldn’t and…” I can’t continue for a moment; it’s too much, the memory of it, that shaky smile he tried to summon up right before…
“His mom is somewhere in Portland right now, waiting for her son’s body to come home,” I finally go on, my voice gaining strength. “You…Why would you do this? I looked up to you. I admired you. I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” Tanya insists, her eyes swimming with tears. “You are my friend, Claire. But I…I came here on a mission. I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice,” I say.
“Not when it comes to my little sister’s life,” Tanya says, and for the first time, she doesn’t look guilty. She looks determined. Sure of herself.
My mind trips over her words, trying to make sense of them. “What are you talking about?”
“After Eric and I got accepted into the program, we were contacted by Mosby Health.”
“That pharmaceutical company?”
“Yes. They have a groundbreaking medical trial that’s helping kids who have the same heart problems as Victory,” Tanya says. “Not just helping them—healing them. But it’s impossible to get in—there’s a waiting list years long. So Mosby made us an offer: spy for them, get as many samples and as much information on the medical technology and treatments as possible, and Victory doesn’t just get into the trial, they’ll pay for all her future treatment.”
It’s like shards of ice in my veins are being melted by a terrible, consuming heat. She isn’t lying now.
I understand now.
This is Tanya and Eric’s sister. If I were in the same position, if Karen were sick and someone came to me with the solution? I would pay any price. I would lie to anyone and everyone. I would do anything.
I would be the sister she deserves.
Tanya has decided to be the sister Victory deserves, no matter the cost. But I don’t think, even in her deepest nightmares, she knew the cost would be this great.
Tears slip down my cheeks, and I want more than anything to reach out and squeeze Tanya’s hand, but I don’t. Because it hurts too much. Because I feel like my skin’s been peeled raw by this lesson in grief I never wanted to learn.
“It was you that night in the training center when I stayed behind to count the tranquilizer darts,” I say in a flat voice.
Tanya nods. “I needed at least six vials of the tranquilizer. They gave us a list of things they wanted. The fusion bandages and the tranquilizers were at the top, plus all the security details we could get for future infiltrations.”
“Did you give them any of this stuff already?”
Her eyes sweep down—a confirmation, if I’ve ever seen one.
“I sent the tranquilizer darts out on the first mail day after I got them,” Tanya admits. “And I don’t regret it,” she adds, but her voice is unsteady. “The very next day, Victory started treatment. She’s already starting to respond. But now…” Her face crumples, emotion brimming over. “I didn’t think anyone would ever get hurt. I never thought Justin would die. I’m so sorry, Claire.”
“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” I say. “How about his mom? You should be apologizing to her. You should be apologizing to him, but that can’t happen, can it? I’m no one, Tanya. I was just a girl he liked…who liked him back.”
“You aren’t no one,” Tanya says. “He loved you. And you were my friend. And I’m sorry…I had to. And now Justin’s gone and they’ll stop Victory’s treatments a
s soon as they find out we got caught, and…” She begins to cry in earnest, and I wish I could join her. I wish I could fix this.
But I’ve gotten the information that Mr. Masrani needs. And if I stay in this room any longer, I’m going to break. There is no cold, icy core to the old me—or the new one.
“I’m sorry about Victory,” I say, getting up. “I have to go.”
“Claire—” Tanya starts, but I don’t listen.
I just leave.
* * *
Mr. Masrani and Oscar are waiting as I close the door behind me. Oscar locks it again, sighing deeply.
“I told you this kind of old-school espionage was going to happen,” Oscar says, looking back at Mr. Masrani. “And you were more worried about hacking.”
“Yes, Oscar, you were right,” Mr. Masrani sighs. “I was wrong. I am man enough to admit it. We will put together a plan to address it, all right?”
“And the twins?” Oscar asks. “Mosby Health?”
“I will be making some phone calls,” Mr. Masrani says, and the words are benign, but the way he says them…they’re anything but. Heads are about to roll. I gulp as he turns his attention to me.
“Thank you, Claire,” Mr. Masrani says soberly. “I know how difficult that was.”
“Can I go now?” I ask.
He nods. “I will have someone drive you.”
I almost protest, but then I decide it’s not worth it. I let him call a driver, and they take me back to the hotel. When I go back up to my room, all of Tanya’s things have been stripped from it—they’re probably going through everything for evidence. It makes the room look strange. One half lived-in, the other half empty.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I uncurl my fists. My fingers feel cramped and numb, the bones protesting as I straighten them. I lie back and close my eyes, and finally, finally, I sleep.
When I wake, it’s morning, and bright light is shining across my bed. I know what I need to do.