Grim Judgment

by Jennifer Reinfried

  “Wait, what? Where are you going? Head out where?”

  “To work on the list. Of Vance employees, remember? You and I are going to take them out, bring them to justice, Grim style.”

  Shawn frowned, and he felt his delight falter. “We just got here.”

  “I know. Get some rest.”

  “Where are you going? I thought you were going to sleep, too.”

  “I wanted to stay here until I knew you were okay, but now that you’re awake, I have something to take care of.”

  “Gross, dude. You can just say you have to take a shit.”

  Jaxon shot a disgusted look at him. “No, idiot.” He eyed the closed door, then moved back to the bed. “They captured a Vance employee, have him locked in the basement.”

  “What?” Shawn sat up quickly, straight and rigid, his mind leagues away from his new sight. He swayed.

  “Stop it, settle down.” Jaxon, like Duncan had done, restrained him. “I’m going to go talk to him, see what I can find out.”

  An unsettled churn started in Shawn’s stomach at the thought of what Jaxon truly wanted to do. “I thought we were doing this together,” he said, his mind swimming. “Why can’t you wait until tomorrow?”

  He saw Jaxon hesitate.

  “Please? It’s not like we don’t have time,” Shawn said, fighting the urge to try and stand.

  Jaxon stared into his brother’s eyes, then smiled. It was a cold, menacing smile, meant not for Shawn, but for whomever was trapped in the basement. “All right,” he said. “Get some rest.”

  “Promise you won’t go down there without me?”

  “Yeah. I won’t.” Jaxon moved around to his own bed and sat on it. “When you’re up for it, you and I can go have a little chat with the piece of shit. Question him our own way.” He turned away, intent on changing for the night, and Shawn felt a shudder creep down his spine.

  Has he always had that look in his eyes?

  Chapter Fourteen

  THEN

  1999

  Eleven years. That’s how long I put up with June’s obvious cheating. With staying at the lab into the wee hours of the mornings, running on a pitiful amount of sleep. With putting my transferring ability behind me (for the most part). All so I could spend time with my son.

  In the middle of March of 1987, Jaxon Leo Rettig was born, and he was beautiful. I first held him a week after he’d arrived, since, being a Synth and all, he was instantly whisked away for testing, which truly rattled my nerves. I don’t know why. June and her father, along with everyone else working on this project, all told me that they were being bred for war and nothing else, and to not get attached to any of the children.

  In 1999 there were a bunch of them, not just Jax, all around eleven or twelve. Being around people with superpowers blended into my normal reality quite quickly, so I was barely fazed when Aaron ran up to me and told me what I was thinking. Or when Shawn, who at the time only came up to my sternum, laughed as he lifted me clear off the ground.

  Speaking of that kid, other than my own son, Shawn kept my mind focused, kept it out of the negative pool of depression June tended to sink me into even just with her presence. He was goofy, outgoing, and loveable, a true joy to be around. Not that the other kids weren’t fun, wonderful people, but there was something about Shawn’s laid back, carefree attitude that just drew me in. He and I spent hours at a time just having fun, with Shawn showing off his abilities. I’d report back to Duncan about how much weight the boy could lift. Once he built a small fort out of heavy cement blocks, one at a time, only to shove his way out with ease, a delighted grin on his round face. Another time, he picked up each block with only one of his small, twelve-year-old hands and quickly spelled out my name, not breaking a sweat, as if the blocks were made out of styrofoam. After awhile, his makers moved on to bigger and heavier things, until they found out the exact weight he could not lift or move, which not only irritated the boy, but ended up hurting him.

  Once, he strained so hard to impress us that he popped both arms from his sockets. Thankfully, he healed fast, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt him, and this pissed me the hell off. Knowing these people were completely fine with letting a child go to such extremes that he’d become seriously injured all in the name of science was not okay with me, and by 1999 I was seriously considering sabotaging the entire operation, although I had no idea as to how.

  A quick side note here: when I say ‘makers,’ I’m referring to the people that not only had a hand in creating a Synth, but also were in charge of that particular child. They came up with the tests, physical and emotional, as well as keeping the kids fed, clothed, and bathed. Each Synth had a team of five adults who looked after them, and most of the time, one of them was the Evo who had given their DNA to create him or her. The only one who didn’t stay around after the birth was the surrogate mother, who was only allowed to be considered a child’s maker if she herself was an Evo.

  Jaxon was the exception. Jaxon was special. Now we’re getting to the other reason I hated June.

  —-

  That first time I held Jaxon, I had no idea what he would be capable of; not then, not later in life when he began killing people with his mind. How could I have known?

  June kept every bit of information on Jaxon from me, as well as the rest of the scientists, who didn’t give a shit because they were so busy raising their own Synths. Her dad, John, worked with her, but he wasn’t about to spill the beans on their little secret.

  The only things I knew about Jaxon were these: he was the only child created using the DNA from more than one Evo, over a decade passed before his powers emerged, and I loved him more than I loved myself.

  The moment I held him, I knew Jaxon was my son. I could feel it. I stared at him for hours, just holding him, cradling him, rocking him gently in my arms. Hell, I ate an entire meal with him sleeping in one arm, just watching him. The way his little nose would twitch fascinated me. His eyes were pale blue like mine, only more like ice than the sky. June often came to take him away for more testing, but when he wasn’t being poked and prodded, I held him. Speaking to him in a soft voice, telling him about everything I’d been through. Telling him about my dad’s accident, my mother’s suicide, leaving the horrific parts out, of course. I told him how it felt to transfer, how I had looked down on myself for stealing money from other people. How I considered myself a coward. How I wanted him to grow up better than his father.

  As the years passed, June’s obsession with finding out just what made Jaxon tick began to really upset me. She’d keep him locked away for hours at a time. When I did get to spend time with my son, it was only for a bit. He learned to walk and even said his first words while not in my presence.

  By the time he was three, I had begun to loathe June and her work, and started spending more time with the other children to ease my anger. I watched Larissa create a snowstorm inside, watched Mari struggle to figure out how to control her time freezes. I was there when Naomi had her first premonition, an event that caused a lab-wide celebration that same night, full of champagne and junk food. I was there when they decided to clone Shawn, shortly after he turned five, watched as they made two more of him as easily as one would make an apple pie. Okay, maybe not that easily, but to my non-smart, non-scientist brain, it seemed relatively simple, especially because I never witnessed the behind-the-scenes parts of it.

  But for every development, every fantastic revelation of these synthetic children, I missed more and more of my own son’s.

  Something I knew that happened - but never witnessed until later - were the memory wipes. Whenever a Synth would fail a test to the point of causing emotional damage, the makers would wheel the child, strapped to a table, into a room I had no clearance to enter. They wiped their memories in there, June told me once. So instead of letting the children grow and learn from their mistakes, they just wiped them and started fresh.

  Monsters.

  When the children turned six, I
confronted June. I told her if she wouldn’t let me spend more time with Jaxon, I would divorce her. She agreed to let me have what I wanted, and I finally got to be around my son.

  We spent time talking, mostly him asking me questions about myself, but sometimes, he’d open up about how he was feeling, if he was tired or hungry or sad. Every single moment I got with him was a blessing, one that I cherished the rest of my life. Each one. Even the bad ones. Even the terrifying ones, like the night we let the kids play outside.

  It was a warm summer day in Colorado, I believe either May or July in ‘97. Not June, because fuck June. The makers had all gotten together to celebrate the children’s tenth birthdays. I remember it started to rain while we were outside. Most of the makers retreated back against the concrete wall of the building, huddling underneath its pathetic awning, watching their children carefully. I remember standing in the heavy rain, not caring about how wet I was getting, watching Jaxon and Shawn chase each other through the parking area of Lab 14. Shawn was faster than him, faster than anyone, of course, but he always eventually feigned exhaustion and let Jax catch him. They’d wait for a moment to catch their breath, although Shawn didn’t really need to, then they’d go at it again, laughing their silly little laughs.

  None of us saw what happened. The rain had become worse, and one by one, the children all ran back to the only home they’d ever known, back to their makers, and were herded inside. I stood in the downpour, one hand shielding my eyes. June yelled at me, asking where Jaxon was. She didn’t even care about Shawn.

  I couldn’t see them. Suddenly, to my right, I heard a yell and turned to see Shawn carrying my son in his arms. Jaxon was limp, and his forehead was bloody. I raced to the boys and instantly picked him up, not caring that my shirt was quickly staining red. Together, Shawn and I raced inside, with me nearly slipping twice in the mud that had formed.

  Once inside, June tried to take Jaxon from me, and I think I actually snarled at her. She backed off as I lay my son on a table and began to tend to his wound.

  “What happened?” I demanded.

  “He fell,” Shawn said, his lower lip trembling. “We were running and he fell.”

  “On what?”

  “On a stick. He hit his head on a rock.”

  “Liar,” a small voice said. I glanced around and saw Aaron, wrapped in a towel, blond hair plastered to his head.

  “Aaron, where’s your maker? Go back to—”

  “But he’s lying!”

  I looked at Shawn, one hand cradling Jaxon’s head. “Want to try the truth, buddy?” I asked.

  Shawn looked at his feet. “We had a fight,” he said quietly.

  “You did this to him?” June crossed the room in a few strides and backhanded Shawn across the face, who stumbled, then raised a hand to his cheek, eyes wide and scared.

  “What is the matter with you?” I screamed. I let go of Jaxon and knelt down by Shawn, who was near tears. “Come here, buddy, come on.” I turned and glared at my wife. “Get the fuck out of here,” I growled.

  I looked back at Shawn. “Not that bad, is it?” I said. “Here, let me see.” I gently pried his hand away from his cheek, which was reddening. “I don’t see a liar, don’t you worry. Nope, all I see is a brave little boy who saved his friend’s life.”

  Shawn looked away.

  “You wanna tell me what really happened out there? Hmm?”

  “We....we...” His chest hitched as he tried to speak.

  “Come on,” I said softly, and sat right on the floor. June was tending to Jaxon, who was still out cold. Her eyes flicked to me in a death glare.

  “He said I was letting him win, not letting him try hard enough. I said I wasn’t, but he knew.” Shawn sniveled. “He got mad at me, and he pushed me. I told him to stop or I’d get his makers, and he got madder and madder. There was this scary noise in the rain, like screaming. Then he just...” His eyes grew confused. “He pushed me again, but not with his hands.”

  I saw June pause and stare at Shawn as he continued.

  “Something pushed me away from him,” he said, “and it pushed him, too, away from me. He hit his head on a rock, and I picked him up and brought him to you.” Shawn started to cry then.

  “I’m going to find his makers,” June said. “He needs a wipe.”

  “No! Are you serious?”

  “Bruce, if you start interfering with our work, we will have no choice but to remove you from the premises.”

  “Are you even listening to yourself? I’m your husband. We’re supposed to talk, communicate. Be there for each other. How can you even think what we’re doing to these kids is okay?”

  “Assets.”

  “What?”

  “They aren’t kids, they’re assets. The second you start thinking of them as children, you’ll become too attached, and you’ll stop being able to test them.” She stalked toward me as I sat on the floor, Shawn still sobbing in my arms. “How can you honestly think it’s all right caring about them? They could die in testing. In cloning. In war. There is absolutely no point to—”

  “That’s the same exact thing parents go through!” I shouted, though I tried to keep my voice low for Shawn’s sake. “They have children, they raise them, teach them right from wrong, and they grow up, move out, find boyfriends and girlfriends and start families, and might even go to war, or they might die in a car crash, or from suicide.” June flinched at that.

  “This is life, June. These aren’t assets, they’re children. This has to stop.”

  “I’m getting my father. I want you out of here. Tonight.”

  “No!” Shawn screamed at her, twisting in my arms. I let go of him and watched him run up to her, eyes furious. “Dad stays here, with me, or I leave too!”

  She frowned down at him, clearly uncomfortable. “Bruce isn’t your dad. He’s not even your maker. Back off.” She left the room, Shawn still glaring at her.

  I stood and checked on Jaxon, smiling as I felt Shawn hug my torso. I ruffled his damp brown hair, then stroked Jaxon’s cheek. I should have left. I shouldn’t have let them brainwash me further. But I stayed, and for once, I’m damn glad I did, because if I had left, they all would have died.

  —-

  “Come on, buddy. You’ve got this.” I held up a white four-by-four piece of cardstock with a single word on it. Shawn and I stood on opposite sides of the room from each other, about twenty feet apart. Normally, he would have been able to read the card without an issue, but now he was leaning forward, squinting his eyes.

  “This is stupid,” the boy said as I moved two steps closer.

  “I agree,” I muttered, then held up the card again.

  Only three months had passed since Duncan and his team had signed off on Shawn’s procedure, which had consisted of small implants being placed behind his eyes. It was an entirely new concept, and was intended to allow Shawn to have night vision, but since the surgery two days ago, all the boy had reported was that his vision was worsening each day.

  Duncan had studied his progress personally, had decided that we should wait to see if the implants would integrate with Shawn’s body. The suggested wait period was six months from the procedure; if too much time passed without any improvement, the implants would be removed and tweaked to try the surgery again. Until then, all Shawn could do was try to adapt to his slowly deteriorating eyesight. Which, of course, was fucking cruel. But hey, that’s what this damn lab was all about.

  “Why can’t they take them out?” Shawn was asking. “I hate not being able to see right.”

  “I know, but they just need to test it for a little longer.” He didn’t know it would be six months. I didn’t have the heart to tell the eleven-year-old he might slowly go blind before the idiotic scientists would remove the implants.

  “They said I’d be able to see in the dark.”

  “Pretty cool, huh?” I said.

  “Yeah, but I thought I was already special enough. They keep taking my blood for more stuff, Mr. R
ettig.”

  He hadn’t called me Dad, or Bruce, since the wipe after the night in the rain.

  “They’re just testing, making sure you’re healthy and that your body is keeping up with the changes it’s going through.” I stepped forward again, card extended. “And remember? I said you could call me Bruce.”

  “Bruce.” Shawn said. “Bruce?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think it says ‘haircut.’”

  “Excellent job!” I grinned, a sense of pride washing through me.

  Shawn scoffed, which was adorable to see an eleven-year-old do. “What,” he said, and ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

  I laughed. No matter what anyone said, the boy refused to let anyone cut his hair shorter than it was now, which was slightly past the tops of his ears. I moved to the white table on my left and wrote down “approx. 16 ft” in a small notebook.

  “You know these locks aren’t going anywhere,” Shawn continued the joke.

  “Oh yeah? Maybe one night we’ll sneak in and—”

  “You better not!” He laughed and motioned at me to hold up another card.

  “Sure you want to keep going?” I asked. “We’ve been at it for almost an hour.” I looked at the clock on the wall as I spoke, then frowned. Where the hell is June? She had told me there had been a new development with Jaxon, but had run off before I could even ask what it had been.

  “Yeah, why not,” Shawn said.

  I held up the next card, one that said “kindness” on it, and my blood chilled as a scream ripped down the hall. I saw Shawn’s eyes go wide at the sound, but neither of us moved, frozen in the following silence until we heard distant shouting.

  I dropped the stack of cards I was holding and rushed to the open door, peering out with hard eyes. My heart had picked up, was jumping all over the place. I saw nothing.

  “Bruce?” Shawn was standing behind me as I blocked the doorway, and I turned at the sound of his voice.

  “Hey, buddy.” I knelt down on one knee. His eyes followed my movements. “I want you to stay here and—”