Mutation

by Robin Cook

  Victor ran a hand through his thick hair. “It’s because of what has happened to the Hobbs’ and the Murrays’ babies.”

  “Who are they?”

  “William Hobbs and Horace Murray work here,” Victor answered.

  “Don’t tell me you created chimeras out of their children, too.”

  “Worse,” Victor admitted. “Both of those couples had true infertility. They needed donor gametes. Since I’d frozen the other seven of our zygotes, and since they could provide uniquely qualified homes, I used two of ours.”

  “Are you saying that these babies are genetically mine?” Marsha asked with renewed disbelief.

  “Ours,” Victor corrected.

  “My God!” Marsha said, staggered by this new revelation. For the moment she was beyond emotion.

  “It’s no different than donating sperm or eggs,” Victor said. “It’s just more efficient, since they have already united.”

  “Maybe it’s no different to you,” Marsha said. “Considering what you did to VJ. But it is to me. I can’t even comprehend the idea of someone else bringing up my children. What about the other five zygotes? Where are they?”

  Exhaustedly, Victor stood up and walked across the room to the central island. He stopped next to a circular metal appliance, about the size of a clothes washer. Rubber hoses connected the machine to a large cylinder of liquefied nitrogen.

  “They’re in here,” Victor said. “Frozen in suspended animation. Want to see?”

  Marsha shook her head. She was appalled. As a physician she knew that such technology existed, but the few times she even thought about it, she considered it in the abstract. She never thought that it would involve her personally.

  “I wasn’t planning on telling you all this at once,” Victor said. “But now you have it: the whole story. I want VJ to have a neuro-medical work-up so that I can be sure that he has no remedial problems.”

  “Why?” said Marsha bitterly. “Has something happened to the other children?”

  “They got sick,” Victor said.

  “How sick?” Marsha asked. “And sick with what?”

  “Very sick,” Victor answered. “They died of acute cerebral edema. No one knows why yet.”

  Marsha felt a wave of dizziness sweep over her. This time she had to put her head down to keep from passing out. Every time she got herself under control, Victor unveiled a further outrage.

  “Was it sudden?” she asked, looking up. “Or had they been ill for a long time?”

  “It was sudden,” Victor admitted.

  “How old were they?” Marsha asked.

  “About three years old.”

  One of the computer print-out devices suddenly came to life and furiously printed out a mass of data. Then a refrigeration unit kicked in, emitting a low hum and vibration. It seemed to Marsha that the lab was running itself. It didn’t need humans.

  “Did the children who died have the same NGF gene as VJ?” Marsha asked.

  Victor nodded.

  “And they are about the same age as VJ when his intelligence fell,” Marsha said.

  “Close!” Victor said. “That’s why I want to do the work-up, to make sure that VJ isn’t brewing any further problem. But I’m sure he’s fine. If it hadn’t been for the Hobbs’ and the Murrays’ babies, I wouldn’t have thought about having VJ examined. Trust me.”

  If Marsha could have laughed, she would have. Victor had just about destroyed her life, and he was asking her to trust him. How he could have experimented on his own baby was beyond her comprehension. But that couldn’t be changed. Now she had to worry about the present. “Do you think the same thing that happened to the others could happen to VJ?” she asked hesitantly.

  “I doubt it. Especially with the seven-year difference in ages. It would seem VJ already survived the critical point back when his IQ dropped. Perhaps what happened to the other children was a function of their being frozen in zygote form,” he said, but then broke off, seeing the expression on his wife’s face. She wasn’t about to take a scientific interest in the tragedy.

  “What about VJ’s fall in intelligence?” Marsha asked. “Could that have been the same problem in some arrested form, since he was nearly the same age when it happened?”

  “It’s possible,” Victor said, “but I don’t know.”

  Marsha let her eyes slowly sweep around the lab, seeing all the futuristic equipment in a different light. Research could provide hope for the future by curing disease, but it had another far more disturbing potential.

  “I want to get out of here!” Marsha said suddenly, getting to her feet. Her abrupt movement sent her chair spinning to the center of the room where it hit the freezer containing the frozen zygotes. Victor retrieved it and returned it to its place at the lab bench. By that time Marsha was already out the door, heading down the corridor. Victor quickly locked up, then hurried after her. The elevator doors had almost closed when he squeezed in beside her. She moved away from him, hurt, disgusted, and angry. But most of all she was worried. She wanted to get home to VJ.

  They left the building in silence. Victor was smart enough not to try to make her talk. The snow had started to stick, and they had to walk carefully to keep from slipping. Marsha was aware Victor was watching her intently as they got into the car. Still she didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until they crossed the Merrimack River that she finally spoke.

  “I thought that experimenting on human embryos was against the law.” She knew Victor’s real crime was a moral one, but for the moment she couldn’t face the complete truth.

  “Policy has never been clear,” Victor said, pleased not to have to deal with the ethical issue. “There was a notice published in the Federal Register forbidding such experimentation, but it only covered institutions getting federal grant money. It didn’t cover private institutions like Chimera.” Victor didn’t elaborate further. He knew his actions were indefensible. They drove in silence again until he said, “The reason I didn’t tell you years ago was because I didn’t want you to treat VJ any differently.”

  Marsha looked across at her husband, watching the play of light flickering on his face from the oncoming cars. “You didn’t tell me because you knew what a terrible thing it was,” Marsha said evenly.

  As they turned on Windsor Street, he said, “Maybe you’re right. I suppose I did feel guilty. Before VJ was born, I thought I’d have a nervous breakdown. Then, after his intelligence fell, I was again a basket case. It’s only been during the last five years that I’ve been able to relax.”

  “Then why did you use the zygotes again?” Marsha asked.

  “By that time the experiment seemed like a big success,” Victor said. “And also because the families in question were uniquely qualified to have an exceptional child. But I shouldn’t have done it. I know that now.”

  “Do you mean that?” Marsha asked.

  “Oh God, yes!”

  As they pulled into their driveway, Marsha felt for the first time since he’d shown her the rats that she might someday be able to forgive him. Then maybe—if VJ was truly all right, if her concern about his development was groundless—maybe they might be able to continue as a family. A lot of ifs. Marsha closed her eyes and prayed. Having lost one child, she asked God to spare the other. She didn’t think she could suffer such a loss again.

  The light in VJ’s room was still on. Every night he was up there reading or studying. For however aloof he seemed, he was essentially a good kid.

  Victor used the automatic button to raise the garage door. As soon as the car came to a stop, Marsha dashed out, anxious to reassure herself VJ was fine. Without waiting for Victor, she used her own key on the door to the back hall. But when she tried to push it open, the door wouldn’t budge. Victor came up behind her and tried it himself.

  “The dead bolt’s been thrown,” Victor said.

  “VJ must have locked it after we left.” She raised a fist and pounded on the door. It sounded loud in the garage but there wa
s no response from VJ. “Do you think he’s all right?” she asked.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Victor said. “There is no way he could hear you knocking out here unless he was in the family room. Come on! We’ll go to the front.”

  Victor led the way out through the garage and around to the front of the house. He tried his key. But that door had been deadbolted as well. He tried the bell. There was still no response. He rang again, beginning to feel a little of Marsha’s anxiety. Just when they were about to try another door, they heard VJ’s clear voice asking who was there.

  As soon as the front door was opened, Marsha tried to hug VJ, but he eluded her grasp. “Where have you been?” he demanded.

  Victor looked at his watch. It was a quarter to ten. They’d been gone about an hour and a half.

  “Just been over to the lab,” Marsha said. It wasn’t like VJ to notice one way or the other when they weren’t around. He was so self-sufficient.

  VJ looked at Victor. “You got a phone call. I’m supposed to give you the message that things will be getting unpleasant unless you reconsider and are reasonable.”

  “Who was it?” Victor demanded.

  “The caller didn’t leave a name,” VJ said.

  “Was it male or female?” Victor asked.

  “I couldn’t tell,” VJ said. “Whoever it was didn’t speak into the receiver, or at least that’s what it sounded like.”

  Looking from husband to son, Marsha said, “Victor, what is this all about?”

  “Office politics,” he said. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

  Marsha turned to VJ. “Did the caller frighten you? We noticed the doors were all bolted.”

  “A little,” VJ admitted. “Then I realized they wouldn’t have called with that kind of message if they intended to come over.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Marsha said. VJ had an impressive way of intellectualizing situations. “Why don’t we all go into the kitchen. I could use some herbal tea.”

  “Not for me, thanks,” VJ said. He turned to head up the stairs.

  “Son!” Victor called.

  VJ hesitated on the first step.

  “I just wanted to let you know that we will be going to Children’s Hospital in Boston tomorrow morning. I want you to have a physical.”

  “I don’t need a physical,” VJ complained. “I hate hospitals.”

  “I understand your feelings,” Victor said. “Nonetheless, you will have a physical, just like I do and your mother does.”

  VJ looked toward Marsha. She wanted to hold him and make sure that he didn’t have a headache or any symptoms whatsoever. But she didn’t move, intimidated by her own son.

  “Nothing is wrong with me,” VJ persisted.

  “The matter is closed,” Victor said. “Discussion over.”

  His cupid’s mouth set, VJ glared at his father, then turned and disappeared upstairs.

  Back in the kitchen, Marsha put on the kettle. She knew it would take days before she could sort out all her feelings about what she’d learned that evening. Sixteen years of marriage and she wondered if she knew her husband at all.

  Wind whipped snow against the window, causing the sash to rattle against the frame. Rolling over, Marsha squinted at the face of the digital radio-alarm clock. It was half past midnight, and she was a long way from sleep. Next to her she could hear Victor’s rhythmic breathing.

  Swinging her feet from under the covers, Marsha searched for her slippers. Getting up, she picked up her robe from the chair in the corner, opened the door, and stepped into the hall.

  A sudden gust of wind hit the house and the old timbers groaned. She thought of going down to her study on the floor below, but instead continued down the long corridor, to VJ’s room. She pushed open the door. VJ had left his window open a crack and the lace curtains were snapping in the snowy breeze. Marsha slipped through the door and silently pushed the window shut.

  Marsha looked down at her sleeping son. With his blond curls and high coloring, he looked perfectly angelic. She had to restrain herself from touching him. His aversion to affection was so strong; sometimes it was difficult to think of him and David as brothers. She wondered if his disinclination to hug or cuddle had anything to do with Victor’s injection of foreign genes. She’d probably never know. But she realized her earlier concern about VJ had some basis in reality.

  Moving the clothes from the chair next to VJ’s bed, Marsha sat down. As an infant, he’d been almost too good to be true. He rarely cried, and he slept almost every night the whole night through. To her astonishment, he began to talk when he was only a few months old.

  Marsha realized that her excitement and pride of VJ’s accomplishments had been the reason she’d never questioned them. And she’d certainly never suspected any artificial enhancement. Now she realized she’d been naive. VJ’s brilliance was more than genius. She remembered when a French scientist and his wife had come to Chimera for a six-month stay when VJ was just three. Their daughter, Michelle, had been brought to the day-care center. She was five, and within a week she could say a number of sentences in English. But what was more astounding was that during the same period of time, VJ had become fluent in French.

  And then there was VJ’s third birthday. To celebrate, Marsha had planned a surprise birthday party, inviting most of the children his age from the day-care center. When he came downstairs Saturday for lunch, he’d found a roomful of mothers and kids shouting “Happy Birthday.” It was not a success. VJ pulled Marsha aside and said, “Why did you ask these kids? I have to put up with them every day. I hate them. They drive me crazy!”

  Marsha was shocked, but at the time she told herself that he was so much brighter than the other children that being forced to socialize was a punishment. VJ much preferred the company of adults, even at age three.

  VJ suddenly turned over, muttering in his sleep, bringing Marsha back to the present and all the problems she wanted to forget. He was such a beautiful boy. It was hard to reconcile his innocent face in slumber with the monstrous truth revealed at the lab. At least now she felt she had some understanding of why he was so cold and unaffectionate. Maybe that was why he shared so many of the personality disorders displayed by Jasper Lewis. Ruefully, she reflected that at least her absences from home in VJ’s early years were not to blame.

  Well, as long as Victor was insisting on a neuro-medical work-up, Marsha decided that she would give VJ a battery of psychological tests. It certainly wouldn’t hurt.

  6

  Tuesday Morning

  THEY took separate cars to drive to Boston since Victor wanted to return directly to Chimera. VJ chose to ride with Marsha.

  The ride itself was uneventful. Marsha tried to get VJ to talk, but he answered all her questions with a curt yes or no. She gave up until they were a few minutes away from Children’s Hospital.

  “Have you been having any headaches?” she asked, breaking the long silence.

  “No,” VJ said. “I told you I’m fine. Why the sudden concern about my health?”

  “It’s your father’s idea,” Marsha said. She couldn’t think of any reason not to tell the truth. “He calls it preventive medicine.”

  “I think it’s a waste of time,” VJ said.

  “Have you had any change in your memory?” Marsha asked.

  “I’m telling you,” VJ snapped, “I’m entirely normal!”

  “All right, VJ,” Marsha said. “There is no reason to get angry. We’re glad that you’re healthy and we want you to stay that way.” She wondered what the boy would think if he were told he was a chimera, and that he had animal genes fused into his chromosomes.

  “Do you remember back when you were three and suddenly couldn’t read?” Marsha asked.

  “Of course,” VJ said.

  “We’ve never talked much about that period,” Marsha said.

  VJ turned away from Marsha and looked out the window.

  “Were you very upset?” Marsha asked.

 
VJ turned to her and said, “Mother, please don’t play psychiatrist with me. Of course it bothered me. It was frustrating not being able to do things that I’d been able to do. But I relearned them and I’m fine.”

  “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m available,” Marsha said. “Just because I’ve never brought it up doesn’t mean I don’t care. You have to understand that it was a stressful time for me too. As a mother I was terrified that you were ill. Once it was clear you were all right, I guess I tried not to think about it.”

  VJ just nodded.

  They all met in the waiting room of Dr. Clifford Ruddock, Chief of the Department of Neurology. Victor had beat them by fifteen minutes. As soon as VJ sat down with a magazine, Victor took Marsha aside. “I spoke with Dr. Ruddock as soon as I arrived. He’s agreed to compare VJ’s current neurological status with what he found at the time VJ’s IQ dropped. But he is a little suspicious about why we brought him in today. Obviously, he knows nothing about the NGF gene, and I do not plan to tell him.”

  “Naturally,” said Marsha.

  Victor shot her a look. “I hope you are planning to be cooperative.”

  “I’m going to be more than cooperative,” Marsha said. “As soon as VJ is finished here, I’m planning to take him to my office and have him go through a battery of psychological tests.”

  “What on earth for?” Victor asked.

  “The fact that you have to ask means that I probably couldn’t explain it to you.”

  Dr. Ruddock, a tall, slender man with salt and pepper hair, called all the Franks into his office for a few minutes before the examination. He asked if the boy remembered him. VJ told the man that he did, particularly his smell.

  Victor and Marsha chuckled nervously.

  “It was your cologne,” VJ said. “You were wearing Hermès after-shave.”

  Somewhat taken aback by this personal reference, Dr. Ruddock introduced everyone to Dr. Chris Stevens, his current fellow in pediatric neurology.

  It was Dr. Stevens who examined VJ. In deference to the fact that both parents were physicians, Dr. Stevens allowed Victor and Marsha to remain in the room. It was as complete a neurological exam as either had ever witnessed. After an hour just about every facet of VJ’s nervous system had been evaluated and found to be entirely normal.