Black Wings

by Megan Hart

  Dr. Garrett greeted her in the school office. Today his funny tie was emblazoned with snowflakes. His grip was firm and his smile reassuring as he ushered her into his private office and offered her a seat in front of his desk.

  “Something to drink? Coffee? Cola?”

  Marian shook her head. She was off that for the next seven months. “No, thanks.”

  She did accept a bottle of water he pulled from a small fridge by the window, though. Sipping it helped settled her stomach. Dr. Garrett opened a file folder and glanced at the contents, then closed it. He folded his hands on top of the desk.

  “You have an exceptional daughter,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s not the first time you’ve heard that, I’m sure.”

  Marian shook her head. “No. But it’s always nice to hear, isn’t it?”

  Something in his tone reminded her of what she’d said to Dean about the first message from Mrs. Addison. Sprinkles on a shit cake. Marian shifted, getting ready to tell him to please just get to the point.

  “Is she happy, Mrs. Blake?”

  This was not the question she’d expected, and it took her a couple seconds to answer. “I…what do you mean? She’s ten years old. Why wouldn’t she be happy?”

  “At home, does she seem content and engaged with you? Does she spend a lot of time by herself?”

  “She’s always been independent,” Marian said defensively. “I’ve always encouraged her to occupy herself and not need to be constantly entertained.”

  “I understand. Of course.” Garrett tapped the files. “What I mean is, have you noticed any changes in Briella’s behavior lately?”

  Sunny smiles had been replaced with frowns and temper tantrums, but Marian couldn’t say that had happened ‘lately’. “She’s had some growing pains.”

  “Has she seemed…” Garrett cleared his throat. “Obsessive?”

  You know how she gets about things.

  Marian hesitated. “Briella’s always been really focused. Mrs. Addison even sent home a note saying what a great quality it was.”

  “I’m not saying it’s a bad thing at all. Briella is definitely a focused and determined young girl. But I’ve been a little bit worried about her.”

  “Has she been having problems with her classmates? Has she been…unkind?” Marian bit hard on the inside of her cheek, waiting for a revelation that her kid was a bully. Worse than a bully, her mind whispered, and she shoved the thought away again.

  “No, nothing like that.”

  Frustrated and irritated but also relieved, Marian said bluntly, “Be up front with me, please. If there’s something wrong with her, just say so. Her last school didn’t know what to do with her, so she came here. If you’re going to tell me you don’t know how to deal with her, either—”

  Garrett held up his hands and spoke in a soothing tone Marian hated for making her feel like a hysterical airport parent. Helicopter mom, she reminded herself. Which she was not. Maybe she ought to be.

  “I’m not saying that at all. We’ve been really pleased to have Briella here at Parkhaven. But while we do love it when our students succeed academically, Mrs. Blake, we also try to make sure we don’t lose sight of them as human beings. Young human beings who sometimes experience a lot of pressure to succeed.”

  “I’ve never pressured Briella about school. I’ve never had to,” Marian conceded, “but even if she wasn’t bringing home straight As, I wouldn’t have pressured her about it.”

  “I’m not suggesting you are. The pressure with these kids comes from themselves a lot of times. Sometimes from their peers, though we monitor that and make sure, if we notice anything going on among the kids, that we have them work it out. But children of Briella’s intelligence, especially ones who are driven and focused and determined – well, they can end up driving themselves too hard.”

  “Is that what she’s doing? I ask her every day when she comes home from school to tell me about what happened that day. She’s enthusiastic about it. I don’t usually understand half of what she’s talking about, to be honest. But yes, she seems happy enough. It’s not like I ask her specifically if she’s happy. But she’s not moping around the house or crying or anything like that.” Marian sipped more water.

  Garrett nodded. “It’s my understanding that you’re expecting a baby?”

  Marian put a hand on her stomach automatically. Her grin was equally as instinctive. “Yes.”

  “Congratulations, that’s terrific news. How do you feel Briella’s handled the news? Research has shown that siblings with more than five years’ age difference often interact more like cousins than brothers and sisters. Ten years of having you all to herself means a big change is on the way for her.”

  “For all of us,” Marian said.

  “Yes. Of course. Have you spoken with Briella about how she feels about it?”

  “Of course I did. We told her as soon as I found out. She understands what a baby brother or sister means. And I’ve talked to her about it. Of course.”

  “She hasn’t expressed any concerns about being…replaced? That you might be looking at this baby as a…well, a fresh start of some kind?”

  Marian’s bottle of water splashed at the sudden shaking of her hands. Tears welled but she fought them down. Damn her hormones, making every emotion rise so fiercely to the surface.

  “Absolutely not,” she lied. “And we would never let her think that, so if she did say something, we’d be talking to her about how that can’t possibly be true. She’s my daughter, Dr. Garrett. I love her. Her step-father loves her. That’s not going to change just because we’re having another kid.”

  “My partner and I have four biological children between us, plus a fifth we adopted together. I have no doubts that there’s plenty of room in a parent’s heart for multiple children. Or for those not related by DNA.”

  “Early on, she did express some concerns, yes. Of course.” Marian frowned, hating how guilty she now felt. “But we talked about it and she’s seemed…fine. Has she been complaining about it here at school?”

  “Yes, although it was in relation to the work she’s been doing in her private study project. She told me that she had to work harder to get her program to work before the new baby came, because it would be too late, after.”

  “What does her project have to do with the new baby?”

  Garrett hesitated, his brow furrowing. “I don’t think the project itself has anything to do with the new sibling. It’s my perception that Briella has it set in her mind that you’ll fall in love with the baby and forget all about her, so if she wants any accolades from you for this project, she needs to get it finished before that happens.”

  “Oh, God.” Marian rubbed the spot between her eyes where an anxious headache had been brewing and was about to burst open. “That’s awful. I feel terrible that she could even think that.”

  “We know it’s not true, obviously. But because kids can be so perceptive, especially really bright ones like Briella, it can be easy to forget how much we assume they’re able to understand. You might not have felt the need to continue to reassure her that she won’t be replaced because to you it seems so obvious, but to Briella it can feel enormous and terrifying to learn that a new little person is going to come into your lives. It’s very common for older kids to feel pushed out by new siblings, and let’s face it, there will be some of that just by necessity. Babies take up a lot of time.”

  “I’ll talk to her again.” Marian had finished the bottle of water, which meant that she was going to have to use the bathroom soon.

  “That would be great.” Garrett smiled, then looked serious. “There’s something else we need to talk about. Briella has been working harder and harder, pushing herself with her independent study project, and we’re wondering if perhaps it might be a good idea for her to step back
from it. Kids at this level can come up with some amazing projects, but it’s also likely that, despite her advanced intelligence and her determination, she really won’t be able to make it a success. It’s such an ambitious idea that I don’t think there’s any way she can get it working. I don’t think anyone could, to be honest.”

  Marian had only the vaguest idea of what Briella was working on. Only that it involved a computer program, something about memories, some sort of personality thing, like a robot or an artificial intelligence. “You don’t? Why is that?”

  “Well.” Garrett looked briefly uncomfortable. “It’s just that…well, the idea is like something out of a science fiction novel. Which is not to say that it’s not viable,” he added hastily. “Who knew even a couple of decades ago that the personal handheld communicators from all those Saturday-matinee B movies would become reality?”

  It took her a moment to realize he was talking about cell phones. Marian laughed lightly. “I’ve never been a big science fiction fan. I get Star Trek and Star Wars confused all the time. Makes my husband crazy.”

  Garrett flipped through the folder again, pausing on a stapled packet of papers and pulling them out to hand to her. “For independent study projects, we require the kids to fill out a set of forms. Supply requests, estimated budget, their theories and what they think the outcome will be. A timeline. The idea is to make them fully aware of every aspect of a project.”

  “That’s really…that’s a lot. When I was her age, we were doing times tables and story problems,” Marian said. “To be honest, I could never figure out what time the trains would pass.”

  “A lot has changed,” Garrett agreed with a laugh. “And beyond that, Parkhaven is not a regular school. Because students work so closely with the teachers on their study projects, none of them are expected to meet all the requirements on their own. Eventually, by the time they graduate, they’re able to do it, but the younger students get a lot of help. Part of the packet is an essay about what they think the project will accomplish, what they will do if it doesn’t work, that sort of thing. Briella’s essay was short, although adequate. I think you ought to read it for yourself.”

  “All right.” Marian took the packet and scanned it.

  Briella’s chicken-scratch handwriting, familiar, was not her best asset, for sure. In a few places, someone had made notes in the margins to clarify what Briella had written. Marian got through the entire sheaf of papers in a few minutes, skipping most of the number stuff about equipment and costs. By the end of it, she was still uncertain what the kid was trying to do or make or build.

  She looked up at Garrett, who’d been typing on his computer while she read. “Briella has talked about her computer coding and making copies of things. Umm, recording memories. I have to admit, I don’t get much of it at all, if any.”

  “I understand. That’s part of the reason I asked you to come in. I wanted you to be aware of what Briella’s been working on. She’s been adamant that she doesn’t share things with you and your husband at home, because, according to her, you don’t care. That you only care about the baby.”

  “That’s not true. I ask her every day what she’s been doing in school,” Marian said again, miserably, because if you picked it apart to the very baseline of things, it was at least a little true. She and Dean couldn’t follow what Briella was working on, and they didn’t care about it other than that they cared about her, but it was absolutely not true about the baby. Why, then, did she feel so guilty?

  “Again, I’m sure that’s her perception,” Garrett said in a tone that did not convince Marian that he did, in fact, believe it.

  Marian sat up straighter. Her bladder was twinging now. She squeezed her thighs together and took slow, deep breaths. “So. What do we do?”

  “Talk to her at home. Ask to see her progress. Spend time with her. All things I’m sure you’re doing already,” he added hastily when Marian opened her mouth to reply. “Mostly, Mrs. Blake, just listen to her. Briella is a little girl with lots to say.”

  “Yes. I know that.” Marian chuckled and looked again at the papers in her hand. “But all of this stuff is talking about neural pathways and computer programs…and the existence of angels? I didn’t know Parkhaven was a religious school.”

  “It’s not. We’re a privately funded institution, so the rules about religion in the classroom are different for us than for public schools, but we’re not religiously affiliated. That bit about angels is all Briella’s.”

  Marian thought about this for a moment with a frown, remembering what Briella had called her computer program or code or whatever it was. “She’s been talking about something called Blackangel.”

  “That’s the name of the coding program Briella wrote and has been using for her projects. Extraordinary, really. I’m like you, I can’t write code or even understand it at all. I can use a computer, but programming it is way out of my scope. The kids here in Parkhaven are truly gifted, in so many ways….” Garrett shook his head, seeming to run out of words. “I am constantly amazed. And honored, too, that I have the opportunity to help them along when they find themselves in difficulty, whether it’s learning how to interact socially, dealing with depression—”

  “Are you saying my kid is depressed?”

  “No. I am saying that Briella is sometimes so focused on her goals” – Marian noted he did not say obsessed – “that she finds it difficult to interact socially with her peers, as well as her teachers. That’s not uncommon here.”

  With the weird kids, Marian thought, but did not say aloud. “Yet you’re concerned enough to call me in.”

  “Just to make sure you’re up to date with what’s happening. It’s good for the parents to connect with me, so that nothing gets out of control.”

  She couldn’t argue with that. She looked again at the paper, going quiet as she made some connections. She didn’t have to understand the complicated computer parts of it to be able to link the bits about angels and Tommy and her father and the bird that had gone missing. The psychopomp.

  “Am I reading this correctly? Briella is working on a way to prove the existence of an afterlife by copying memories that can be…downloaded and saved?”

  Garrett looked uncomfortable. “That’s my understanding. Yes.”

  “We don’t even go to church.”

  “It’s possible she picked it up from mainstream media. I myself am not a Christian, but the truth is that we do live in a Christian-dominated society, particularly in this area. You don’t have to be practicing at home for her to pick up a certain pervasive world view,” Garrett said, almost apologetically. “But it’s clear that whatever you might talk about with her at home, Briella has formed some strong opinions about the afterlife and the existence of angels.”

  “What about this other stuff? This science-fiction stuff, like you said? That’s what you’re talking about, right?” Marian waved the packet of papers and then folded them to tuck inside her purse.

  “Yes. That. The use of computer programming and technology and the brain’s neural network and pathways to copy not only memories but…personality.” Garrett coughed. “The soul, if you will.”

  “Briella’s trying to copy people’s souls?” Marian laughed aloud at the absurdity of it.

  Garrett did not laugh. “Yes.”

  “That’s not…of course she can’t do that.”

  “We don’t think it’s possible, no.”

  “If you don’t think she can make it work, then why would you be encouraging her to spend so much time on it?” Marian uncrossed and recrossed her legs against the twinge in her bladder.

  “Because here at Parkhaven we think the process of trial and error and failure is more important than ultimate success. These kids are learning how to use their brains and talents, but if we only let them work on things we know they can do, they’re going to have a very skewed view of the w
orld. Like giving everyone a gold star for participation, not accomplishment.” Garrett smiled.

  “Briella used to get so angry if her grade wasn’t perfect,” Marian said quietly after a moment. “It could be something as simple as poor penmanship or a lower score in gym class because she didn’t do enough sit-ups. She’d get really furious and blame herself. She’d be upset about it for hours.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. That drive and focus can become disruptive or detrimental. When a student becomes too tied up in their project and it begins to affect their well-being, we have to redirect them toward something a little more beneficial to them, long-term. Sometimes, taking a break is all they need. Other times, we have to terminate the project permanently.”

  “Which are you going to ask Briella to do?” Marian shifted in her chair, regretting drinking that entire bottle of water so fast. It was becoming clear, now, why the doctor had called her in here, and once again, she wished they’d just freaking get to the point already. She’d been here almost an hour.

  Garrett hesitated, looking serious. “In the beginning she was working on something that was less focused on the concept of an entire personality or soul, more on simply recording or copying memories. Something like that could have real, practical applications. Of course we understand that no matter how gifted our students are, the truth is that most of them are still too young and without enough experience to really do everything they think they can. But even if she didn’t manage to get it to work, it was something she could work toward. Possibly a project she might have continued to pursue after she’s finished here at Parkhaven and has gone on to higher education. She might have ended up making a huge contribution to the world.”

  “But you don’t think so anymore?”

  “The moral implications of what Briella wants to do are more of a concern at this point than whether or not she can actually accomplish it. The question about if the soul exists is not for us to answer. That’s a matter of personal revelation or family upbringing. Not our business or responsibility, frankly. But we do feel as though this concept has become the focus of Briella’s work for her personally. Her teacher, Mrs. Addison, and the rest of the staff all feel uncomfortable allowing her to continue. And I agree with them.”