Systematic (The System Series Book 2)

by Andrea Ring

  I nod. “And before the last few weeks, I would have said I did the right thing anyway. That suicide is a sin. But there’s Grandma. And then Olivia…God, Tessa, she was in so much pain. I don’t blame her for wanting to end it.”

  Tessa doesn’t say anything to that.

  We walk along the dark sidewalk in silence for several minutes. Then Tessa says, “Sophie broke up with Todd yesterday.”

  “There’s a shocker,” I say. Sophie Barone hasn’t been able to keep a boyfriend longer than a week since I first kissed her ten years ago.

  Tessa smiles. “Karina told Abbey who told me that Sophie said she measures every kiss against the one you gave her in the first grade, and none of them can compete.”

  I laugh. “Sophie dumped me. Has she forgotten?”

  “It’s just an excuse,” she says. “Sophie’s just like her mom, always looking for the next best thing.”

  “Kinda sad,” I say. “Todd’s a good guy. I feel sorry for people who don’t value what they have.”

  Tessa stops walking and pulls on my hand. She looks me in the eye. “Thomas…I love you. You know that, right?”

  I raise an eyebrow at her. “Of course.”

  “I want to say something, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  A strange bolt of energy zaps every nerve ending in my body and I suddenly feel light-headed. I swallow hard. “Okay.”

  “Do you think…you’re a very serious person, and I love that about you. I mean, I value it, the way you question things and we talk about issues and stuff. That’s a good thing.”

  “But?”

  Tessa smiles. “But sometimes, it might be nice if we had a little fun. So much shit has gone on lately and…I’d just like to take a break from it every once in a while, you know?”

  “We have fun,” I say.

  Tessa sighs. “We enjoy our time together, I mean, I love being with you, but we don’t have a lot of fun.”

  “Fun,” I say.

  “Fun.”

  “You mean like this?” And I scoop Tessa off her feet and throw her over my shoulder. She squeals.

  I run with her down the street while she pummels my back.

  “Put me down!” she shrieks, laughing.

  “Not until we have a little fun!”

  I drop to my knees on my neighbor’s grass and roll Tessa off my shoulder and onto her back. She throws herself at me and wrestles me to the ground. I could pin her in two seconds flat, but I let her win, and she straddles me.

  “I’m gonna make you pay for that,” she says. She digs her fingers under my ribs and tries to tickle me.

  “You know I’m not ticklish,” I tell her.

  Her fingers stop, and she wiggles her bottom against my groin. “Have you ever felt a tickle?”

  “Nope.”

  “Could you let yourself feel it?”

  I think about that. “I don’t see how.”

  Tessa glares at me. “We’re having fun, remember? Stop controlling everything. Let go. A little tickle won’t kill you.”

  “It’s not like that,” I say. “My nerves just don’t respond that way.”

  “Make them,” she says. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

  Ah, a challenge.

  “Actually,” she says, “this raises a question: do you control what your nerves feel all the time?”

  I prop myself up on my elbows. “That’s…a very interesting question.”

  “Well? Do you?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  Tessa leans forward and strokes a finger down the length of my throat. “What did that feel like?”

  “Like you touched my throat,” I say.

  Tessa rolls her eyes. “Do it to me.”

  I run the pad of my index finger from the bottom of her lower lip, down her chin, and under to her throat. Tessa shivers.

  “What did you feel?”

  “Electricity,” she whispers.

  I lie back down flat and close my eyes. I imagine myself opening an imaginary clenched fist, letting go of my control. “Do it again.”

  She does. It feels like the brush of butterfly wings until she reaches my clavicle bone, where her touch almost makes me jump out of my skin. My whole body shudders and I feel it—electricity!—shoot straight to my, ahem, groin.

  Tessa grins. “You did it.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head and pulling her down to my lips. “You did it.”

  We share a kiss and walk back home. All is dark.

  Tessa and I cuddle up in bed, and we spend two hours exploring my nerve endings.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  I wake to an empty house and a fresh pot of coffee. I have to grudgingly give Dad credit for that.

  I sip my coffee while I read the news on my laptop. A new email message pops up. Grrr—it’s from that liar, Cyrus.

  Thomas, please hear me out.

  Olivia is inconsolable, uncontrollable, and self-destructive. I will probably have to admit her to a mental institution if we cannot fix her.

  Here is the truth: she has Capgras Delusion. She thinks I am a pod person, a murderer who has killed her father and taken his place.

  The reason I didn’t reveal this to you is that this has caused us trouble to no end. I’d hoped you would heal her and the delusion would be over. But I see now that I may have doomed both Olivia and myself to hell on earth.

  Imagine it—your daughter thinks you are a skilled actor, nothing more. Worse, you did something heinous to her real father in order to take his place. I have been called a murderer, a liar, a thief, an alien. Olivia has called the police, social services, even posted on Internet sites about her “fake” father. I have done damage control as best I could, but these accusations are a matter of record. The police have been investigating me on and off for years.

  And then, as I try to hold my own life together, my daughter grows depressed. Despondent. She’s genuinely afraid of me. She feels she’s alone in the house with a stranger. She tries to commit suicide to get away from me, and to, finally, be with her parents in Heaven.

  I thought you would fix her. Of course, I am forever in your debt that Olivia is alive. That in itself is enough for me. Truly.

  But I would be a horrible parent if I didn’t try everything in my power to get Olivia the help she requires. She’s in agony, Thomas. She’s so afraid, and there’s nothing I can do. She won’t take comfort from the enemy.

  What do you require? An apology?

  You’ll never know how sorry I am for not being upfront with you.

  Money?

  Name your price.

  Counsel? Spiritual guidance? My fucking life? Take it. It’s yours. Everything.

  Just, please.

  Cyrus

  ***

  I drive over to Olivia’s house and knock on the door. It’s only 7 AM, but Cyrus opens the door quickly. He looks like he hasn’t slept.

  “So,” I say.

  Cyrus just stares at me. And then a choked gargle erupts from his throat, and he bursts into tears. Before I can react, he flings himself at me and hugs tight.

  “Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

  I pat his back awkwardly. “I won’t leave her like this,” I whisper back.

  ***

  Dr. Park is scribbling notes in the sitting room when Cyrus and I enter. He jumps to his feet and shakes my hand. “Thank God you’re here.”

  “How’s she doing?” I ask.

  Dr. Park sighs. “We’ve got her sedated. But if she doesn’t eat soon, we’ll have to put the feeding tube back in.”

  I nod. “Cyrus, I need you to stay out of sight until I’m finished. Not a word, understand?”

  He nods back. “I’ll wait right here.”

  I look at Dr. Park. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  The first thing I do once I’m hooked up is metabolize the sedative. Olivia slowly comes around, and I’m grateful she’s strapped to the bed. I don’t want her pulling her hand ou
t of mine.

  “Olivia?”

  She opens her eyes and meets mine. “Who?”

  “I’m Thomas Van Zandt, the doctor who healed you. Do you remember me?”

  She nods slowly. “What…what are you doing?”

  “I’m just checking a few things to make sure I healed you properly. Is that okay with you?”

  “I can’t stop you,” she says. “Is he here?”

  “He who?”

  “That man,” she says. “The one pretending to be my father.”

  “I have some news about that,” I say. “That man is gone. The police took him away.”

  Olivia tries to sit up but can’t move much against her restraints. She lifts her head. “They did?”

  “Yes. And they found your real dad.”

  “He’s alive?” she whispers.

  I nod. “They need you to make the final verdict about his identity, but they believe so, yes. Since your injuries were so terrible, they want me to do one more check on your brain to make sure you’re okay, and then we’ll bring him in.”

  Olivia lays her head back down and squeezes her eyes shut against the sudden tears. “Will it hurt?”

  “If you hold still, not a bit. Just keep your eyes closed, and we’ll be done in a couple of minutes, okay?”

  Her breath hitches. “Okay.”

  I quickly focus on the amygdala and the nerves that run there from the visual cortex. I heal those nerves. In less than thirty seconds, I’m backing out and healing our hands.

  I pat Olivia on the arm. “All done.”

  She opens her eyes. “I can see my dad now?”

  I stand. “Cyrus, you can come in now.”

  Cyrus rounds the corner slowly and comes to stand next to the bed. “Hey, baby.”

  Olivia blinks a few times. “Daddy?”

  He grips the side rail tight. “It’s me. It’s really me.”

  Olivia tries to raise her arm to him, but she can’t. She looks at me, pleading.

  I undo the Velcro straps at her wrists and ankles. Dr. Park takes care of the one across her chest. She sits up and places her hand on top of her father’s.

  “Daddy,” she whispers.

  Cyrus folds her into his arms.

  I smile. Then I back away and head on down the stairs.

  ***

  Whistling, I head for home.

  I could call Kate and Kenneth, probably should, but I’ll see them in the morning. I want to talk to Dr. Rumson, but he’s conducting services. I want to tell Dad that I righted the wrong. But there’s only one person who should hear my news first.

  It’s barely eight o’clock, and Tessa likes to sleep in. I’ll generously give her until nine.

  I pull into the driveway behind Erica’s car, where Tessa is pulling a box from the backseat.

  I slam my door shut. “You’re up early.”

  She gives me a sideways kiss—the box between us is awkward. “Thought I’d help Mom.”

  I squint towards the house. “Can she do without you for a few hours?”

  Tessa smiles. “Maybe. If it’s important.”

  I take the box from her and we head for the house. “Oh, it’s important. We need to have a little f-u-n.”

  “F-u-n?” she whispers. “That’s a dirty word.”

  I laugh. “Promise?”

  ***

  I take Tessa to Knott’s Berry Farm. We ride the roller coasters (I have to suppress the urge to vomit), we eat funnel cake, and we get soaked on the log ride.

  We even pose for a caricature. The artist draws our likenesses surprising well, with huge heads and little teeny bodies holding hands.

  “I love it,” she says when the artist hands her the drawing. “Could I try?”

  “You’re an artist?” he asks.

  Tessa blushes and nods.

  He laughs and hands her his black marker.

  Tessa sits on his stool, sticks her tongue out of the corner of her lips, and does an awesome caricature of the artist.

  She won’t let him peek until she’s done. He grins when he sees it.

  “You want a job here?”

  Tessa’s cheeks burn red again. “Thanks for the compliment,” she says. “But I already have a job.”

  ***

  On the ride home, I squeeze Tessa’s knee.

  “What did you mean, you already have a job?”

  Tessa smiles. “I was thinking you’ll probably need help, like with handling the press, marketing, I don’t know. Paperwork. Errands. Someone to run your life while you’re saving people.”

  I smile back. “So you’re a PR expert, are you?”

  She shrugs. “I could be. I’m serious. You’ll need someone you trust to do all that stuff. You’re going to be a brand. Someone should manage that. I’ll major in business.”

  I’d never thought of that—the Thomas Van Zandt brand. Kind of ridiculous, but hey—maybe she’s right.

  “And I want to be a part of it, a part of you,” she says.

  “You’re hired.”

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Tessa and I get home in the early afternoon and fall asleep for a nap tangled together. Dad and Erica don’t say a word.

  I wake up around five and spend half an hour just looking at Tessa, watching her sleep, studying the slope of her pert nose, the curve of her lips, the length of her lashes. It’s impossible to believe that in ten or twenty years she’ll start being affected by a deadly disease. That she’ll have trouble walking, talking, and swallowing. That she’ll die young, in terrible pain.

  I reach out to touch her shoulder, to gently wake her, but I pause with my hand in mid-air. What advantage is there to telling Tessa now? She’ll find out soon enough. Let her have a few more days of peace.

  I get up and shove my feet in my Converse. I need to go to church.

  ***

  It’s the 7 PM evening service, and the pews are only half-full. I sit in the last row and settle in.

  When Dr. Rumson enters, he spots me right away and gives me a smile. I give him a half-hearted one back.

  I want to talk to him so badly! I want to get out of this church and into the comfort and safety of his office and spill my secrets and share my problems and have him tell me what I should do.

  But that is a child’s wish.

  I listen to the sermon with half an ear, and sing with half a voice, and pray with the whole of my being.

  I have to be what Tessa needs.

  Directly after the service, I do what I’ve never done in the decade I’ve attended St. Paul’s Church: I leave.

  I drive to Oak Glen Park, grab a notebook and pen out of my backpack, plop down under a lamp on the dewy grass, and systematically write down each and every thing I have to do to be what Tessa needs.

  It’s a long list.

  But it’s what I was born to do.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Every experiment I’ve ever wanted to try is off the table. Saving Tessa is my only goal.

  Kate and Kenneth are working on using Protein T to activate stem cells in a laboratory environment so the protein can be used universally in the medical field. This is our back-up plan to healing Tessa, in case full-blown genetic engineering doesn’t work.

  I’m working on the genetic engineering.

  My first experiment will be on Tyrion. He’s not coded as a Dweller—so I’m going to make him coded. If he can assist in his own growth and healing, he has a much better shot at staying alive.

  That’s the theory, at least.

  I still haven’t told Tessa about her impending disease, and it’s gnawing at me. We don’t lie to each other, we don’t withhold information. This has been the longest eight weeks of my life.

  Thank God she hasn’t asked me if she’s healthy. I couldn’t lie to a direct question. But as long as it doesn’t come up, I’m able to keep my mouth shut.

  I’ve rationalized it like this: Tessa’s ignorance is for her own good. Until I have a workable plan to heal her, I’m keeping qu
iet. She’d just be worried and stressed otherwise.

  Right?

  I feel like such an asshole.

  I just pray that when the time’s right to tell her, Tessa understands.

  ***

  We’ve got Tyrion and Dacey prepped and ready for some gene replacement. Dad’s with me, assisting Dr. Trent and a couple of nurses monitor the procedure.

  I’ve spent the last two months helping Dacey grow Tyrion’s body. He’s got everything now except for a right arm and legs. The process was remarkably smooth, especially once Tyrion’s new heart was pumping. The strain on Dacey’s heart has eased.

  When I explained my genetic engineering experiments and proposed trying them on Tyrion, he jumped at the chance. I suspect that he doesn’t really care about being an official Dweller—he just wants to help me out. That’s the kind of guy Tyrion is.

  So this procedure is weighing on me. I can’t screw it up. Tyrion’s life is in my hands.

  There are several ways to get new DNA into existing cells. The tried-and-true method involves viruses—put the new DNA into a virus, and the virus can penetrate cells. But sometimes those viruses can do funky things, so I decided on a different method.

  I’m going to inject naked DNA directly into the cells.

  Researchers have had a tough time doing this—you have to make the cell membrane porous to get the DNA in. But since I have control of my cells (and those of anyone I’m hooked up to), I can inject the DNA easily.

  We’re going to do several rounds. Today, I’m focusing on the brain. If I can successfully integrate the new DNA (Dacey’s) into Tyrion’s brain cells, the rest of the body should be easy.

  Dr. Trent sedates Tyrion by giving him some local injections—anything else would affect Dacey, too, and we want him awake and participating. Tyrion’s eyes roll slowly into his head and his eyelids close.

  “Injecting now,” Dr. Trent says, and he inserts a syringe directly into Tyrion’s eyeball and depresses the plunger.

  I cringe. Thank goodness I’m not getting that injection.

  “Is the DNA on your radar?” Dr. Trent asks me.

  “Got it,” I say, and I begin to corral the DNA and disperse it throughout Tyrion’s brain.

  At minute seven, I feel my body tiring. I drink some Dwellerade and pop a pill.

  At minute eleven, I sense a change in Tyrion’s body.