Systematic (The System Series Book 2)

by Andrea Ring

  Thomas?

  I run down the hallway to meet her. I hear her but can’t see her, there’s no end, no Tessa in sight, so I run, and I pass doors, so many doors, but I know they’re not the right ones. They’re a distraction. Tessa is at the end of the hallway, I have to get to the end, I just have to run…

  “Thomas?”

  I turn over and prop myself on one elbow. I’m tangled in the sheets, as though I’ve been thrashing about in my sleep.

  “Tessa?”

  “It’s me,” she says from my bedroom doorway. “Can we talk?”

  “Yeah, okay, of course,” I say, fumbling around. I’m trying to get the sheet unwound from my body, but it’s caught on something, my leg, maybe.

  “Can I turn on the light?” she asks.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight thirty.”

  I finally sit up. “Yeah, go ahead.”

  I can hear Tessa’s hand running along the wall as she searches for the light. She flicks up the switch, and I’m momentarily blinded.

  Tessa screams.

  ***

  “What?” I ask her, trying to shield my eyes against the light.

  Tessa just keeps screaming, and I can hear footsteps running down the hall.

  “Tessa! What is it?” Dad pokes his head in the room and throws an arm around Tessa’s shoulders. “Tessa!”

  She’s sobbing now. She plants her head in dad’s chest and points at me.

  “What?” I ask again.

  Dad’s eyes widen as he looks at me. He hustles Tessa out of the room.

  “Erica, take Tessa. Thomas, he…he’s got a costume on and it scared her. Thomas is upset…let me talk to him. Keep her away for a bit.”

  Dad comes back into the room and closes the door.

  “You didn’t do this on purpose, did you?” he says.

  “Do what?” I ask him. “What are you talking about?”

  He points to the bathroom. “Have a look.”

  I throw my legs off the bed and stand. But it feels like I’m wearing high heels (not that I know what that feels like)—I lose my balance, my feet slip out from under me, and I fall on my butt.

  “What the…”

  Dad walks over to me, chuckling. He bends over, hands on his knees, and laughs his ass off.

  I sit up and look at my feet, but I have no feet. Instead, I have cloven hooves.

  And I’m sitting on something lumpy. I twist my body sideways to look at my butt, and growing out of my tailbone is a three-foot long tail, lumpy with ridges of cartilage and pointed at the end.

  I’m so startled, I twist the other way, trying to get away from the tail. But it follows me. I try to get to my feet (hooves) again, and have to clutch my headboard to stay upright.

  “What’s happening?” I say, voice shaky.

  “A little too much emotion, I’d say,” Dad says, finally standing tall. “Feeling devilish, my son?”

  I growl at him, and Dad laughs again. “Nice fangs.”

  I reach up and carefully feel my teeth. They’re sharp.

  “And how’d you…” Dad reaches out and touches the top of my head. “Good lord, it’s bone.”

  “What’s bone?” I feel my head, which now has two rigid horns sprouting from the top.

  “Bone’s tricky,” he says. “I may have to saw them off.”

  “Like hell,” I say.

  I let go of the headboard and gingerly make my way to the bathroom, clomping all the way. I stare into the mirror.

  “How did this happen?” I say, swallowing hard.

  “This has never happened to you before?” Dad asks, leaning in the doorway.

  “Of course not!” I say. “I think I’d know it if I’d turned into Satan before.”

  “No, I know you haven’t turned into this, but you’ve never changed your body in your sleep before?”

  “No,” I say. “Well, yesterday when I was mad I grew fangs, but I was awake and really, really pissed off.”

  “Did you go to bed mad?” he asks.

  “A bit,” I concede.

  “No harm done,” Dad says. “It’s like a wet dream. I can’t believe you haven’t experienced it before.”

  “I’ve never felt out of control before.”

  Dad raises an eyebrow. “What made you feel out of control?”

  I put both hands on the counter and lean in close to the mirror. Dried blood is clotted around the base of both horns in my hair. I curl my top lip and get a good look at my teeth. Every one has elongated and ends in a lethal point.

  I close my eyes and change the shape of my teeth. I put my mouth under the faucet and catch a mouthful of water. I swish it around my mouth and spit into the sink. This time when I smile, my teeth are back to normal.

  “Impressive,” Dad says.

  Then I dissolve the bone cells in my skull that are connected to the horns. I gently pry the horns off and throw them in the trash. Then I seal my skull back up, add hair follicles, and grow my missing hair.

  Dad’s mouth drops open. “I’ve never seen anyone do that,” he says, admiration in his voice.

  “Stick with me, kid,” I say. “I’ll show you a thing or two.”

  He shakes his head. “So you were saying you felt out of control?”

  I sigh and turn around to face him. I try to prop my butt on the counter, but the tail’s in the way. “Just a minute.”

  I clip-clop back to the bedroom and grab my dirty jeans from the floor. I finally find my knife in the front pocket and take it back to the bathroom with me.

  “Here,” I say, turning around. “Hold my tail out taut for me.”

  Dad takes the tail and stretches it out. “Bet you never thought you’d hear yourself say that.”

  I ignore him. I cut off the nerve endings to the tail. Then I saw it off with the knife, clotting the blood as I go and healing the wound.

  Dad holds the tail up. “What the hell do we do with this?”

  “Chop it up and burn it,” I say. “Or bury it. Who cares?”

  “Tessa and Erica are here.”

  I grab the tail and throw it into the shower. “We’ll deal with it after they leave. Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” he says, a smile creeping back onto his face. “Your feet.”

  “Shit,” I say, looking down at my hooves.

  I sit on the closed toilet and grow new feet from the ankle down. I disconnect the offending tissue and the hooves fall to the floor. I deposit them in the trash with the horns.

  “Am I done?”

  “No,” Dad says.

  I pat my face and neck, looking for something I’ve missed. “What?”

  “Tell me what made you do this.”

  I stare at my toes. I wiggle them just because I can.

  “It was all too much. I felt…first I felt guilty after I fell asleep and missed Tessa’s swim meet. Then Erica cornered me about Cyrus, and I told her the truth, and Tessa made me feel like an ass, even though I thought I’d done the right thing. Then…there are the issues with you, you know what they are, and they make me feel like I’m living with a stranger. And then I heal Olivia, for real, all the way, I was so…so elated to get to her to that place, to see all that effort pay off, I mean, she’s alive! But she didn’t want it, Dad. You were right. I should never have healed her.”

  Dad sits down on the bathroom floor beside me. “What do you mean, she didn’t want it?”

  “She didn’t fall off a horse. She tried to commit suicide.”

  “Was it a side effect of that car accident?”

  I cock my head. “What do you mean?”

  “The article I gave you. I thought she might have lingering injuries from that accident, or emotional problems from witnessing her mother’s death. Did you not do additional research?”

  “The article said Olivia was fine. It never occurred to me to do research. What made you think otherwise?”

  “Cyrus,” he says. “He told me Olivia had no other medical issues prior to falling o
ff her horse.”

  “You talked to him?” I ask.

  “Of course. He’s been trying to get in touch with you for months. He sounded sincere in our phone conversations, but then I found that article. Any normal parent would mention it. Sure, you might forget about the time your kid falls off a swing, but you’d never forget the accident that killed your wife.”

  I swallow. “I did find something odd in Olivia’s brain.”

  “What?”

  “Nerves from her visual cortex to her amygdala had been severed. I knew it was an old injury.”

  “That might result in Capgras Delusion,” Dad says.

  “I’ve read about that,” I tell him. “It’s when someone believes the people close to him, like a wife or a mother or father, are impostors. They say that, yes, this person looks exactly like my mother, and she knows all the things my mother knows, but she’s not my mother.”

  “Exactly,” Dad says. “The neuroscientist V.S. Ramachandran posits the delusion is created because these patients have lost the emotional connection that usually comes with recognizing a face. I would imagine such a delusion could drive a person to suicide. They feel like they’re living with strangers.”

  I draw in a sharp breath. “But I didn’t heal those nerves,” I say. “I left them alone, thinking Olivia would want to return to her former self. I didn’t realize.”

  “We’re just speculating,” he says. “We don’t know if that’s the reason she tried to kill herself.”

  “And that’s the other thing,” I say. “She still wants to die. I brought her back against her wishes.”

  “You still did the right thing, Thomas,” he says softly.

  “Did I? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if anything I’ve ever done has been the right thing.”

  “The right thing isn’t always easy,” he says. “And sometimes the right thing for one person may be the exact wrong thing for someone else. Trust me, you’ve always been on the side of right.”

  I shake my head. “Sadly, I can’t trust a single word that comes out of your mouth.”

  Dad hangs his head. “So that’s how it is, huh?”

  “That’s how it is.”

  “Is that how it’s always gonna be?”

  “That’s up to you,” I say.

  “You know,” he says, “when I was your age, my biggest dilemma was how to get Becky Parsons into bed with me.” I glance at Dad, but he’s staring at his hands. “It never occurred to me that my abilities could help others. Never even crossed my mind. Then I knew I wanted to get the hell out of Dodge, so I joined the Navy, went to the Attic, was ordered to become a father, ordered to do experiment after experiment, and for a long time, I thought, I’m just a pawn. A plaything. Someone’s whipping boy. I never had a say in my own life. I sucked it up and followed orders and never did one Goddamn thing for myself. Always for the military. Always for my country. Always for someone else.”

  “You want sympathy?” I ask.

  “You were the only thing I did my way. I raised you the way I thought best. I molded you into the man you are.”

  I bristle at that but stay silent.

  “You’re the best person I know,” he says. “You care about others and about doing the right thing. As a father, I…I couldn’t be more proud of you. I’d trust you with my life.”

  I blink hard to keep the tears from falling. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it?”

  “No,” he says. “Not mine. I always knew I’d have about fifty years, give or take, and that would be that.”

  “But you have Erica now. Surely things have changed.”

  “Not that,” he says. “Erica knows about our lifespan, and we’ve agreed to squeeze every single drop of happiness we can out of the time I have left. I’m not looking for miracles for me.”

  “Then who?” I say.

  “Thomas, I don’t know if you’re ready—”

  “Who!”

  Dad blows out a loud breath. “Tessa.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  “How dare you?” I say. “How dare you try to manipulate me by using Tessa!”

  “I wish this were a game, Thomas, but it’s not,” Dad says.

  “What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with Tessa.”

  “Erica’s mom gave birth to two babies with Down Syndrome. Did you know that?”

  I nod. “Tessa told me.”

  “One died shortly after birth, and Erica’s sister, Lydia, died when she was three. They knew there was a genetic component to Down’s and to some of the other disorders the babies had, so Erica did a full battery of genetic tests on each of her kids while they were in utero. All the boys were fine.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with Tessa,” I say again, more forcefully.

  “She has a mutation on chromosome 4.”

  “Huntington’s Disease?” I say. “That’s impossible. She’d have to inherit it from a parent. Erica doesn’t even have any symptoms.” I sound stubborn to my own ears, but I’m not conceding that Tessa’s sick.

  “She did,” Dad says softly. “Symptoms started eight or nine years ago. Another reason why Erica was reluctant to leave her marriage.”

  “So you healed her?”

  Dad shakes his head. “I can’t do what you can do. I’ve just been managing the symptoms. At some point, though, the disease will take over. Or I won’t be here to manage it anymore.”

  I care about Erica, but I can’t get past the fact that he thinks Tessa is sick. “Tessa’s completely symptom free,” I say, making it a prayer.

  “Typical onset is around age 30, 35. She won’t develop the disease for a while. But this is real, Thomas. She has the mutation. Huntington’s is inevitable.”

  I get to my feet and pace the small bathroom. Tessa can’t be sick. I would know it. I would know.

  “Does Tessa know?” I ask.

  “No.”

  I growl. “Jesus, doesn’t anyone around here tell the truth? This is Tessa’s life, and nobody thought to mention this to her?”

  “They were planning to come clean after Tessa graduates high school. They were trying to give her a happy childhood.”

  I hang my head. Looking down the length of my body, I suddenly realize I’m naked.

  I push past Dad and walk back into my room. I grab a fresh pair of boxers and some sweatpants and pull them on. Dad appears as I’m thrusting my arms into a t-shirt.

  “So are you leaving it up to me?” I ask. “Am I supposed to be the one who tells her?”

  “Erica would like to wait until after graduation.”

  “Too fucking bad,” I say. “You blew it. No way I’m keeping this from her.”

  “You have no right to go over Erica’s head on this,” he says.

  “I will do exactly as I see fit,” I say. “Every fucking second is going to count. I have to start working on this now.”

  “Thomas, sit down for just a minute. Let’s talk this through.”

  “Why?” I scream. “She’s a ticking time bomb. The disease could kick in at any moment!”

  “Thomas, think about this. Think! You have no idea what her reaction will be. You haven’t thought about how to break it to her. Unlike you, Tessa has probably never heard of Huntington’s. At least give it some thought. For her.”

  I suddenly realize that I’m crying, and I wipe the tears from my chin. “You two are such pussies,” I say. “You’re the adults. You should be handling this like adults, like parents, and instead you’re pawning it off on me. You knew I wouldn’t keep this from her. You knew I’d have to act on it.”

  Dad holds out his hands, pleading with me. “Thomas, I don’t know how long I’ll be around,” he says. “If I had time left, I’d do it myself, without involving you. I went against Erica’s wishes and told you, because I know you’re the only one who can save her. I know that no matter what you’re doing, you won’t do it without Tessa. You’d hate me even more if I kept this secret any longer.”

  �
��And you suggested we get married!” I say. “Talk about the ultimate dodge in responsibility.”

  “You should be the one to make medical decisions for her, if it comes to that.”

  “That’s years away, Dad. That’s what you said. What’s the rush?”

  “You never know,” he whispers. “If I’d married Vivian…maybe things would have gone down differently.”

  I sigh. “How long have you known about Tessa?”

  “Since the day I first told you I was taking you to the Attic.”

  ***

  Tessa has calmed down by the time I go out to see her in the kitchen. She’s drinking hot chocolate and chatting with Erica.

  “I’m sorry I scared you,” I whisper behind her.

  She turns in her chair to look at me. “I overreacted,” she says. “You looked…I thought you’d turned into a monster.”

  “The inside coming to the outside, huh?”

  Tessa sighs and stands. “You’re not a monster, Thomas.”

  I turn to Erica. “I’m so sorry. I never meant…I was only trying to help.”

  Erica gets up and puts her arms around me. “I know,” she whispers. “You’re the most amazing young man, and you have nothing to apologize for.”

  “You’re sure?” I say, pulling back from her.

  “Sure,” she says.

  I turn back to Tessa. “I’m sorry.”

  Tessa lays her head on my chest. “Me, too.”

  I wrap my arms around her and hold on.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  “Come on,” Tessa says, taking my hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  We wave goodbye to Dad and Erica and walk hand in hand around the neighborhood.

  “That wasn’t a costume, was it?” Tessa says.

  “No,” I say.

  “Why did you grow horns?”

  I sigh. “I didn’t mean to. It happened in my sleep. I was feeling…like a bad person.”

  Tessa squeezes my hand. “And I made you feel that way.”

  “Some,” I say, “but nothing I didn’t deserve. Olivia woke up today.”

  “And that made you feel like a bad person? That’s amazing, Thomas.”

  “But she didn’t want to wake up. I found out she tried to kill herself.”

  “Wow,” Tessa whispers.