Eve and Adam (11 page)

Eve hears what I didn’t say. “My mother told you to bring her here, to me?”

“No. Actually she told me absolutely not to do that.”

Eve’s forbidding expression softens.

“I don’t always do exactly what I’m told,” I say.

“Well, thanks,” she says.

I comb my fingers through my hair. It’s tangled up, even by my standards, which are pretty low. “I should get going.”

“Stay,” Eve says firmly, going all Terra on me again. She winces, looks down, smiles a little. “I mean, please stay, if you don’t mind.”

I grab a chair. “Sure. No problem.” I was hoping she’d say that.

“Tell me, Aislin,” Eve says gently.

“They came to Maddox’s apartment.” Aislin takes a shuddery breath. “I was there. They started banging. Crazy. Threatening him. They broke a window and someone must have called the cops. Which was lucky because they got in. The gangbangers, not the cops, I mean. I tried to … so one of them…” She mimes a punch. She started strong, but now the narrative is breaking up. She’s breathing hard, as if the whole thing’s happening all over again.

“The guy, so he hit me, and I fell down. Kicked me in … Maddox, they had him, the other guys, and they were tying him down. He was yelling for help. I tried. My phone. Then, wham again. A gun and they were pointing it. Maddox. Then the sirens and I ran, I got out of the door and down the stairs and I was going to get the cops to come and help. Confused, because of being hit and all.”

Eve looks at me.

There’s a knock on Eve’s door. It’s Dr. Anderson with the nurse, who’s carrying a tray of bandages and sutures.

“Jeez,” the doctor says. He is wearing a pair of red silk pajamas. His feet are bare.

Dr. Anderson moves Aislin to a spot where the light is better, over by the desk. He peers sideways at her nose. The cut looks bad. The nurse tsk-tsks under her breath.

The doctor pulls on rubber gloves, prodding the wound. “Yep. It’ll definitely need stitches, young lady. But first let’s get a radiograph, make sure nothing’s broken.”

Aislin doesn’t complain. She’s kind of gone somewhere else in her head.

The nurse and doctor help her out the door. “It’ll only take a minute,” the nurse says.

“You stay put,” Dr. Anderson admonishes Eve. “You’ve had enough fun for one day.”

“It wasn’t all fun,” I offer.

Eve presses her lips together, suppressing a smile.

“Should I go?” I ask Eve when they’ve left. “I mean, there’s nothing more I can do, I guess.”

Eve adjusts her sheets. “It’d be okay if you stick around,” she says casually. I can’t tell if she wants me around or not. “I might need backup while I’m reading Aislin the riot act.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say, matching her tone. “I’m totally wide awake, anyway.”

We sit in silence. The mirror has get-well cards taped to it. There are flowers everywhere. Girl things are scattered around the room: a makeup kit, a bottle of perfume, something unidentifiable that’s beige and silky.

Aislin returns with the nurse and doctor. “Nothing broken,” he reports. “Think we can put Humpty Dumpty together again.” He yawns widely. “Nurse, you can finish up. The Ambien’s kicking in again.”

Aislin settles in a leather chair as the nurse prepares her equipment.

“Listen, sweetie,” Eve begins in a lecturing voice. She hears it herself and I can see it makes her uncomfortable. But she has to go on. I want her to go on. Someone has got to tell Aislin what’s what.

“This has to stop, Aislin. You know it. I know it. The whole world knows it. You’re going to end up hurt.”

“It’ll be okay,” Aislin says. But there’s no force to her words. She doesn’t believe what she’s saying.

“I know you care about Maddox,” Eve says. “But this can’t go on.”

“I’m going to numb you up,” the nurse says.

Aislin is crying. I don’t think it’s from pain.

Before long the nurse leaves. Aislin’s nose looks a little like Eve’s leg. It’s a mess of white bandages.

Aislin gets up to examine herself in the mirror. “Ugh, how long do I have to look like this?”

“Look how fast my face healed up,” Eve offers.

“It’s going to take Aislin a lot longer than it took you,” I say. It’s out of my mouth. Too late to call it back now. For a second I think no one will say anything.

“Why should it take her longer?” Eve asks. It’s like I’ve dissed Aislin.

I don’t answer. I hang my head, elbows on my knees.

“Solo?” Eve presses. “Why aren’t you answering me?”

I look up through my eyebrows. I look pointedly at the bathroom. “In there.” I mouth the words soundlessly.

To my relief, both of them catch on immediately.

“Can you grab my wheelchair?” Eve asks me.

“Try standing,” I suggest.

She gives me a skeptical frown. “Are you kidding? No way.”

“Okay, then. I’ll play crutch,” I say, shrugging. Like it’s a hardship.

I slip my arm around Eve and help her hobble into the bathroom. Aislin follows, moving unsteadily.

With the door closed, it’s cramped but not too bad: The suite is roomy and so is the bathroom. I rummage in the medicine cabinet, then in the drawers. I pull out a pair of scissors.

“What are you doing?” Eve asks.

I kneel in front of her. “Which is easier? Hike up or drop trou?”

She sees what I’m getting at. With a rather baleful expression on her face, Eve slides the pajama bottoms down. They puddle around her ankles.

“That’s what you wear for panties?” Aislin protests.

“They’re comfortable.”

I have no comment. I am content to swallow hard.

The thick bandages extend from her ankle to her upper thigh. Her upper, upper thigh. Very carefully, hands trembling, I pull the edge of the bandage away from her thigh and insert the scissors, point down.

Aislin runs her index finger along her bandaged nose. “You know, now that I think about it, it’s weird, the way they didn’t give you a cast for that leg.”

“Actually, it’s not so weird,” I say.

“What are you doing?” Eve asks. But not with any serious intent. Not like she’s actually going to stop me. There’s a quaver in her voice.

I cut.

Down the inside of her thigh.

I reach the place where the leg was severed. I roll the bandage down to expose it.

The three of us stare.

The bathroom light is unforgiving.

Where her leg had been crudely ripped apart—skin shredded, bone snapped, muscle meat torn like a turkey drumstick—there is smooth, unblemished white skin.

– 19 –

“There isn’t even a scar,” Aislin murmurs.

We all stare for a while. I extend shaking fingers toward my leg.

I need to touch to believe.

The skin isn’t even bumpy. It’s not just smooth. It’s absolutely identical to the way it was before the accident.

I push the bandages down farther. It’s like taking off a very tight legging. All the way to my knee, just in case, just in case memory is playing some weird trick on me.

“We’re awake, right?” I ask.

Solo stands up. He sets the scissors on the counter. “It’s been like this for days. By the second day everything was fine. By the third day the scars would have already been disappearing. Day four?” He lifts his shoulders. “There can be variations, it’s not an exact thing.”

Aislin seems to have forgotten her own injuries. “That’s not possible. Is it?”

“Solo,” I say. He has the answers. I can tell.

“Have you ever had a scrape or a skinned knee that lasted more than a day?” he asks.

“Um … I don’t know.” I scroll back over a lifetime of Band-Aids. “Who keeps track?”

“Cuts? Bruises?” Solo leans back against the sink, arms crossed over his chest. “Toothaches?”

“I’m an excellent flosser,” I say defensively.

“Colds? Flu?”

My heart is hammering. “I use Purell?” I say with a weak smile. “How many colds have you had in your life?”

Solo tenses. He starts to say something, then catches himself. “We’re talking about you.”

“She never gets sick,” Aislin says softly. “Like … never. She doesn’t even get cramps.”

I shoot her a look.

She holds up her hands in a placating gesture. “Well, it’s true.”

“So I’m the picture of health. I’m lucky,” I say. Gingerly I touch my thigh.

Solo shakes his head. “No one is that lucky.”

“Wait! I know!” I cry triumphantly. “When I was around two I had heart surgery.” I am weirdly relieved by this fact. “It was some valve thing. Congenital. They repaired it, though. With pig tissue, actually.”

Aislin frowns. “Like … bacon?”

“No,” Solo says to me. “They didn’t repair it surgically.”

“Obviously, they did. Because here I am, fine. Beyond fine.” I chew on a thumbnail, considering. “And how could you possibly know what happened when I was two, anyway?”

Solo looks at his feet. “You didn’t have long to live, Eve,” he says. “The odds of getting a heart transplant were pretty slim. At some level, you can see why they did it. They were desperate.”

I grab his arm. “What are you telling me?”

“You’re a mod.” Solo touches my hand and I loosen my grip on his arm. “You’re genetically modified. It happened when you were two. It’s in your file.”

He waits while I absorb this.

I leave him waiting.

I am not absorbing.

“Two days after your surgery, you were completely cured,” Solo says. “The doctors probably thought they were seeing things. What they were seeing was the Logan Serum. Either your mom or your dad must have injected you.”

“Logan Serum,” I repeat dully.

“Cool,” Aislin says, staring at her reflection in the mirror. “Can I get some?”

“No one can get any,” Solo replies. “It’s never been approved by the FDA, by the government.”

“Why not, if it’s so—” I start, but just then Aislin’s legs buckle just a little. She catches herself, but I can see the night has taken a big toll.

“I need a drink of water,” she says in a little girl voice.

I fill a glass from the tap. Solo catches Aislin as she suddenly folds up. He lifts her easily. She’s not unconscious, just in that strange zone between awake and asleep.

Solo places her on my bed. I put a pillow under her head, pull off her boots, and cover her with a blanket.

I motion Solo to follow me back into the bathroom. The Leg is surprisingly limber, but my hands won’t stop trembling.

I shut the bathroom door. “First of all, we’re in here because there aren’t any surveillance cameras, right?”

“Yes.”

“This thing.” I toy with the sink handle. I don’t want to look directly at Solo. “This healing thing. Why doesn’t everyone have it? I mean, why doesn’t my mother, why doesn’t Spiker…”

“Because it’s illegal. The way they made it was illegal. They took shortcuts with human testing. Now they have to re-create the whole thing from scratch, pretending to discover it and test it the right way. That takes years.”

I force myself to look at him.

There’s more. I can see it in his eyes. I can see that he’s challenging me to ask. I can see that he’s almost eager to tell me.

That’s what makes me hold off. I don’t want to hear any more. Not now. Not yet.

It’s one thing to know that your mother skirts the law from time to time. My mother’s always been in the gray zone when it comes to ethics.

It’s another thing altogether to know that your mother broke the law outright. And that she did it in order to save your life.

It seems like something she might have mentioned, oh, I don’t know, over breakfast one morning:
Make yourself an Eggo, Evening, and don’t forget your science project. Hey, speaking of science projects, Daddy and I had you genetically modified when you were two. Please put your dishes in the sink.

Solo knows I don’t want to know. He laughs, a hard, flat sound. He opens the bathroom door and crosses my room. “I gotta go. I’m beat. If your mom asks, Aislin found her own way here.” He pulls a key card out of his back pocket. “This is for Suite Fourteen. That’s supposed to be her room.”

I take the key. I have to say thanks, don’t I? He risked a lot, bringing Aislin to me.

But somehow the word doesn’t come from my mouth. All I can say is, “Good night,” and he’s gone.

Aislin snores.

*   *   *

Despite everything, I sleep. Despite Aislin’s hand thrown across my face. Despite the strangely detailed memories of dropping my pajamas to the floor while Solo is at eye level with my unsexy panties.

The sense memory, the shiver that comes with it, of Solo running careful fingers down my inner thigh.

Despite all of that, I sleep. I dream of a hospital. But not the one here at Spiker. Or the emergency room.

It’s a hospital room far back in my past.

I see my mother. I see my dad.

I dream of my father sometimes, never of my mother.

But in this dream, they’re together, whispering. My mother is holding a syringe. My father nods his approval. They are both crying.

I wake up to a blast of very bad breath from Aislin. She smells of puke. I hope she made it to the bathroom. I stagger up and find the toilet bowl full. Well, better than the bed.

My bandage is flapping loosely. I either have to cut it all the way off, or try to conceal my guilty knowledge until my next scheduled bandage-change.