by Ellery Kane
My mother nodded, cautiously. “We can try,” she said. “Ideally, we would need a subject who was not Emovere resistant already.” She glanced at Elana and Edison. “Someone who has been vulnerable to the effects of the drug in the past.” She paused. I knew what, or more accurately, who she was hinting at.
“Looks like your number’s been called, McAllister.” Edison didn’t try to disguise the pleasure in his voice.
“Mom,” I said, irritated. “Quin’s not doing it.”
“What about me?” Max offered. “I’m pretty sure Emovere worked on me too.”
Quin’s silence was notable. His eyes were cast downward.
“Quin is the ideal subject,” my mother explained. “He was a member of the Guardian Force, so we know he was subject to and responsive to high levels of Emovere.” She turned to Quin. “But we certainly don’t want to force you, Quin. It’s up to you.”
I shook my head with disapproval. My mother continued to ignore me.
“What will it be like?” Quin asked, looking cautiously at my mother.
“Quin, you don’t have to do it,” I said, my voice pleading with him. I imagined that the things he had done while taking Emovere were playing on a slow motion reel in his mind.
My mother patted Quin on the shoulder reassuringly. “We’ll administer Resilire first, followed by a small dose of Emovere. I’ll monitor your heart rate with an electrocardiograph. Then we’ll expose you to a stimulus, something frightening—you can choose. If it works, you’ll feel afraid. Your body will show the physiological signs of fear. That’s the point—to render the drug useless.”
“And if it doesn’t?” I asked.
“If it doesn’t … well, then I’m sure Quin will recognize the feeling or lack thereof. It’s a small dose so the effects will only last an hour or so.” My mother’s face was expressionless. “What do you think, Quin?”
In that moment, I hated her.
“I’ll do it,” he said, boldly.
“Perfect!” my mother exclaimed. “Now we’ll need to pick your stimulus.”
“I can’t watch this,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I was angrier with my mother for putting Quin in harm’s way or Quin, for accepting the risk so readily.
“It’ll be okay, Lex.” Quin looked at me intently, his eyes adding please don’t be mad at me.
My mother ushered us out of the room, where we waited anxiously as she and Quin discussed his stimulus. I had never seen Quin afraid of anything, and I didn’t want to. I knew it would be something terrible from his past.
My mother emerged from the room and whispered briefly to Carrie. Carrie nodded and walked back toward the house. When we entered the lab again, Quin was already sitting in a chair next to the heart rate monitor, wires from the electrodes snaked from under his shirt, connecting to the machine. I couldn’t look at him, so I focused on his heartbeat. It was a steady beep. On the table next to him were two small vials and a needle.
After cleaning a spot on Quin’s arm with rubbing alcohol, my mother administered the first dose of Resilire, the drug she had created. Quin stared straight ahead as if he was unaffected. But knowing Quin, I suspected his indifference was a mask.
“Now, the Emovere,” my mother announced.
Before I could protest, the needle was in Quin’s arm.
“Do you feel anything, Quin?” Elana asked almost immediately.
“We need to allow a few minutes for the drugs to take effect,” my mother explained.
After five minutes elapsed. I noticed the steady beep of Quin’s heart slowed a bit. I considered asking my mother about it, but stopped myself. I didn’t want to know.
Carrie returned from the house with a plastic bag in her hand. She passed it to my mother gingerly.
“Okay, Quin, we’re going to expose you to the stimulus you selected.”
From out of the bag, my mother pulled the largest of our kitchen knives. Its blade was long and razor-sharp. Elana and I both gasped. I should have guessed.
Moving cautiously, my mother placed the knife near Quin’s arm. His heart rate continued to beat steadily, no change. She moved the knife closer to his skin, letting the blade lightly graze his wrist. Still nothing. She pressed the flat edge of the blade against his forearm. I watched his skin depress. The beeping increased ever so slightly. My mother set the knife down next to Quin, reaching for her pen to record something in her notebook.
“How can we be sure this is the right stimulus?” I asked, frustrated. I just wanted it to be over. My question hung, unanswered.
Without warning, Edison grabbed the knife from the table. Moving with the speed and precision of an animal clamping down on its prey, he pressed the knife within inches of Quin’s neck. I couldn’t move or speak, only watch, transfixed.
Quin’s eyes were wide, his face drained of color. His breathing stopped for a moment, then quickened, coming in small bursts. Finally, I heard the beep of his heart, drumming insistently.
Edison calmly returned the knife to its resting place. “Somebody had to do it,” he said, shrugging.
I watched Quin closely, waiting for his reaction. He was surprisingly self-contained.
No one spoke for a moment. We all watched as Quin’s heart rate slowed and returned to normal.
“Dr. Knightley, does that mean it works?” Max asked.
My mother, still shocked, only nodded.
Finally, Quin spoke. I couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear, but there was a noticeable quiver in his voice that he covered with sarcasm. “We should’ve left you dangling a lot longer, Van Sant.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
BLACK SUITS
WE WERE SITTING AT THE kitchen table, finishing up dinner, when our expected unexpected guests arrived. My mother jumped when the doorbell rang.
I peered through the shades to see the black car parked in our driveway. My heart sank straight to my stomach, its contents churning with unease. It may as well have been a hearse.
Quin, Edison, Max, and Elana hurried upstairs and out of sight. Carrie remained in the kitchen, watchful. My mother gave me a reassuring smile.
“Just play along,” she whispered before opening the door.
“Good evening, Dr. Knightley.” The first man spoke, his voice formal, thinly cloaked in politeness.
“Good evening, gentlemen. May I ask what brings you here?” My mother didn’t waver.
The second man replied, “I think you know, Dr. Knightley. This is not our first visit. As usual, we would like to ask you a few questions. May we come in?”
I stood behind my mother, hoping to disappear. Though I knew it was impossible, the black-suited men appeared to have the same face— angular, cold, and unyielding.
“Certainly,” my mother replied assertively. “I think you’ll find that my answers haven’t changed.”
“Perhaps,” said the first black-suited man, looking smugly at his partner, “but we may have some new questions.”
Instantly, I felt light-headed, his words a sucker punch to the stomach. What if they had seen the Guardian tattoos? What if they had seen Quin?
“Please, fire away,” my mother countered, as she welcomed the men inside, gesturing them to the living room.
I was certain my mother was completely unprepared to field any questions about my friends, but she remained poised, self-assured. She always told me that confidence was mostly illusion.
The second black-suited man took the first shot. “We received an unusual report this afternoon. Someone spotted your daughter walking with a group of young people.” I knew that he was staring at me, but I didn’t raise my eyes. They remained fixed on the floor.
“Yes,” my mother replied calmly. “This is my daughter, Alexandra.”
“Come over, honey,” she directed me. I took a breath and walked toward them, taking a seat on the edge of the sofa.
“I believe she was walking with my friend, Carrie Donovan.” My mother gestured toward the kitchen, and Carrie gave a timid wave.
The first black-suited man shook his head, unconvinced. “Our report specifically indicated there was a man in the group—a man who fit the description of someone we’ve been looking for.”
On cue, his partner displayed his cellular telephone, an image on the screen. I gulped, covering my shock with an awkward cough. It was Quin. He was wearing his Guardian Force uniform.
The second man turned the screen toward me. “Do you know this man?” he asked.
“No,” I lied, the deception slipping easily off my tongue. My mother was correct—lying wasn’t as difficult as I anticipated. Though I was grateful, the thought dismayed me.
“This is Quin McAllister. He has been AWOL from the Guardian Force for over a year. He stole government property before running away. As you can imagine, we would very much like to find him.”
“Are you sure he’s not here?” After launching his barbed question toward my mother, the first black-suited man stood and began walking toward the staircase, surveying the room closely.
My mother and I exchanged a glance. Her face was unmoved, but her eyes were panicked. As the man moved ever closer to the staircase, I felt paralyzed, my body stuck to the sofa.
“It was me.” I heard Edison speak from the top of the staircase. He was wearing one of my father’s old sweatshirts, his Guardian tattoo safely concealed beneath it. “I was walking with Alexandra.”
“And who exactly are you?” The first man demanded.
“Alexandra’s boyfriend,” he replied, smirking. “Right, sweetie?” He winked at me, as he descended the stairs. He sauntered casually toward me, kissing me on the cheek.
Taken aback by Edison’s boldness, I couldn’t help but smile. “Right,” I agreed, nodding my head at the men.
“I meant your name,” the man repeated, sneering at Edison.
“Oh, that.” Edison laughed. He was good at this. “Brock Van Sant.” Just as he had on the bridge, Edison paused, waiting. This time, there was a reaction.
“Van Sant?” The first black-suited man glanced uncomfortably at his partner. “As in illustrious criminal defense attorney, Van Sant?”
“Is there any other?” Edison asked, his face completely serious.
“Umm, I guess not. We didn’t realize …” Like twins, the faces of the black-suited men became simultaneously submissive.
“It’s okay, gentlemen.” Edison smiled graciously at them. “So about that picture …” He was glancing at the cellular phone in the second man’s hand. “May I have a look?”
As Edison studied the picture carefully, I met my mother’s eyes. We were both in awe. Edison made my mother’s theatrics seem amateurish.
“I know this man,” Edison pronounced. For a moment, all feeling left my body. Then he added, “I used to know him. I believe he was homeless, living across the street from my family. A real nuisance. We were certainly glad when the Guardian Force scooped him up. I’m sorry to hear that he’s brought you so much trouble, but I can’t say that I’m surprised.”
The black-suited men nodded agreeably at Edison, obviously transfixed by his act.
Edison put the final touches on his masterful performance. “We’ll certainly contact you if we see him. Do you have a business card?”
The first black-suited man handed Edison a small, white card, which he pocketed with false intent.
“We appreciate your assistance, Mr. Van Sant. It was a pleasure to meet you.” Synchronized, the black-suited men made their way toward the door.
My mother and I remained speechless.
“The pleasure was all mine,” Edison said, waving at them from the doorway.
After the door closed, Edison and I watched them from the window. When the car’s taillights faded from view, Edison collapsed in uncontrollable laughter, tears streaming down his red face.
My mother shook her head in amazement. “That was some performance, Edison,” she admitted. “Or should I say, Brock.”
I giggled, but immediately, I thought of Quin. Feeling guilty, I turned toward the staircase, hoping he was still hidden. But he was standing at the top, looking back at me.
“Academy Award worthy, I’d say,” Quin joked, but there was no mistaking his eyes. They were darkened by humiliation.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
A RUNAWAY TRAIN
THAT NIGHT, I HEARD MY bedroom door creak open, and Quin stood there, sheepishly. He was barefoot, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. His hair was slightly disheveled as if he had already been sleeping.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered.
He held his finger to his lips to shush me and closed the door behind him.
“I just wanted to see you,” he said. “Is that okay?”
“Quin …” I admonished him, shaking my head, though I was smiling. “You are trouble, Mr. McAllister.”
He pulled back the covers and climbed into my bed beside me. I felt myself holding my breath. Even though he wasn’t touching me yet, my skin felt electric. Not trusting myself, I turned away from Quin to face the door. He reached his arm around my waist, just under the edge of my shirt and slid me closer to him. He was so warm.
“I’ll just stay for a few minutes,” he promised in my ear.
I nodded without speaking. All I could think about was his hand touching my bare skin.
“Are you okay?” I asked, trying to distract myself. “I still can’t believe Edison.” I wasn’t sure which would bother Quin more—Edison’s dramatics with the knife or the kiss.
“I’m fine. But I like that you were worried about me.” He tickled my side, and I giggled.
“Besides, you only have eyes for me,” Quin teased, revealing that it was the kiss on his mind. I hoped he knew that was true.
He snickered to himself. “Has anyone ever called you Lexi?”
When he said it, it didn’t sound annoying at all. I nodded again.
“What about Sexy Lexi?” he said. I knew he was smiling broadly, even though I couldn’t see his face.
“Once, this boy did, but in a mean way,” I admitted.
“Well, he was on to something,” Quin whispered. “You are so …” He didn’t finish the sentence, but pulled me even closer, until there was just my body and his, no separation between us. I did a quick self-assessment: Athletic? Yes. Cute? Maybe. Sexy? Never. But his “so” was convincing—I halfway believed him.
I measured the time with our breaths, lying very still, trying to resist the force field of Quin. It was an unwinnable battle. Slowly, I turned to face him, placing my hand against his chest. When he kissed me, his eyes were opened into mine.
“Goodnight, Lex.”
And just like that, he got up and left me.
My mind was exhausted—I could barely think—but my body was wide awake. It had taken on a life of its own, a life that revolved around Quin. He could stop and start me at any time. The boy I had kissed first had been nothing like him, colorless and watery by comparison. Quin was vivid, indelible, but his intensity frightened me a little. My mother always cautioned me, “Love has to be practical to sustain itself.” Practical was the last word I would have used to describe my feelings for Quin.
I couldn’t lie in bed any longer. I tiptoed to the kitchen and was only slightly surprised to see Edison. He was looking at some of Carrie’s research folders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to put myself to sleep.” He chuckled. “Figured this would do the trick.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Edison had a knack for biting humor.
“Can’t sleep either?” he asked.
“Nope.” I tried to push away the thought of Quin’s hand on my waist. “Today was quite a day.” I raised my eyebrows at Edison, silently scolding him. He nodded knowingly, casting his eyes downward.
“I hope you don’t mind the company,” I added, softening my voice. I didn’t want to make him feel too guilty. After all, he had dismissed the black-suited men single-handedly, and it was thanks to him that we
knew Resilire worked.
“I’ve had worse,” Edison teased.
“So,” I began, taking a seat next to him. “You said your mom left when you were eight—do you have any memories of her?” I had always wondered if my miniscule file of recollections of my father was normal.
“Not many,” he admitted. “I remember Christmases the most. It was her favorite holiday. She always went all out—probably part of the reason I’m so spoiled.” I was surprised to hear him be self-deprecating.
“What about you?” he asked. “I don’t see your dad around.”
“Same as your mom,” I said softly. “He left when I was ten. I don’t remember much either. Sometimes I try to recall his voice, but I can’t.”
Edison nodded with understanding. We sat in silence for a minute or so until he spoke again.
“You and McAllister, huh?” He smirked at me. It was more of a statement than a question.
“Will you tell me about the first time you met Quin?”
Edison rolled his eyes, but he indulged me anyway. “It was pretty memorable,” he began, grinning. “It was my sixteenth birthday. As usual, I was drunk. Connor and I went over to the park. We were going to take pictures of ourselves swimming in the fountain—don’t ask me where that idea came from.” He shook his head. “Anyway, when we got there, we see that there’s already this guy in the fountain. Not to spoil the surprise,” he smiled widely, baring all his teeth, “but it was Quin. I think he was bathing. He was only wearing shorts.”
Edison started laughing again, deep belly laughs. He couldn’t stop, even after I shushed him. “So … ha, ha, ha … we … ha, ha, ha … stole his … ha, ha, ha … clothes.”
His laughter was contagious. Soon I was laughing too. Picturing my serious-minded Quin bathing in a fountain was rather comical. For a moment, the heaviness of the last month of my life lifted.
“What’s going on, Lex?” Quin demanded from behind us. There was a sharp bite in his voice. I wondered how long he had been standing there.
“Nothing,” I said. My voice sounded guilty. “We were just—”