Mutation (13 page)

     "Suit yourself," Victor said.

     "Victor!" Marsha said. "Can't you put whatever it is you're reading aside for a moment to talk with me?"

     Letting the open journal drop, he said, "I am talking to you."

     "Thank you," Marsha said. "Of course I'm glad VJ's physical exam was normal. But his psychological exams weren't. They were unexpected, and a little contradictory." Marsha then went on to explain her findings, finishing with VJ's relatively high score on the hysteria scale.

     "VJ's not emotional," Victor said.

     "That's the point," Marsha said.

     "Seems to me the result says more about psychological tests than anything else. They probably aren't accurate."

     "On the contrary," Marsha said. "These tests are considered very reliable. But I don't know what to make of them. Unfortunately they just add to my uneasiness. I can't help feeling that something terrible is going to happen."

     "Listen," Victor said. "I took some of VJ's blood back to the lab. I'm going to have chromosome six isolated. If it hasn't changed, I'll be perfectly satisfied. And you should be as well." He reached out as if to pat her thigh but she moved her leg away. Victor let his hand fall back to the bed. "If VJ has some mild psychological problems, well that's something else and we can get him some therapy, okay?" He wanted to reassure her further, but he didn't know what else to say. He certainly wasn't about to mention the missing files.

     Marsha took a deep breath. "Okay," she said. "I'll try to relax. You'll tell me about the DNA study as soon as you look at it?"

     "Absolutely," Victor said. He smiled at her. She managed to smile back weakly.

     Victor raised his journal and tried to read. But he kept thinking about the missing files. Victor wondered again if he could have deleted them. It was a possibility. Since they weren't cross-referenced, it was unlikely someone else could have deleted all three.

     "Did you find out what caused the death of those poor babies?" Marsha asked.

     Victor let the journal drop once more. "Not yet. The autopsies aren't complete. The microscopic hasn't been done."

     "Could it have been cancer?" Marsha asked nervously, remembering the day David got sick. That was another date that Marsha would never forget: June 17, 1984. David was ten, VJ five. School had been out for several weeks and Janice was planning to take the children to Castle Beach.

     Marsha was in her study, getting her things ready to take to the office when David appeared in the doorway, his thin arms hanging limply at his sides.

     "Mommy, something is wrong with me," he said.

     Marsha didn't look up immediately. She was trying to find a folder she'd brought from the office the day before.

     "What seems to be the trouble?" she asked, closing one drawer and opening another. David had gone to bed the night before complaining of some abdominal discomfort, but Pepto-Bismol had taken care of that.

     "I look funny," David said.

     "I think you are a handsome boy," Marsha said, turning to scan the built-in shelves behind her desk.

     "I'm getting yellow," David said.

     Marsha stopped what she was doing and turned to face her son, who ran to her and buried his face in her bosom. He was an affectionate child.

     "What makes you think you're turning yellow?" she asked, feeling the first stirrings of fear. "Let me see your face," she said, gently trying to pull the boy away from her. She was hoping that he was wrong and there would be some silly explanation for his impression.

     David would not let go. "It's my eyes," he said, his voice muffled against her. "And my tongue."

     "Your tongue can get yellow from a lemon candy," Marsha said. "Come, now. Let me see."

     The light in her study was poor, so she walked him into the hall where she looked at David's eyes in the light streaming through the window. Marsha caught her breath. There was no doubt. The boy was severely jaundiced.

     Later that day a CAT scan showed a diffuse tumor of the liver. It was an enormously aggressive cancer that destroyed the child's liver within days of making the diagnosis.

     "Neither baby seemed to have cancer," Victor was saying, rousing Marsha from her reverie. "The gross studies showed no signs of malignancy."

     Marsha tried to shake away the haunting image of David's yellow eyes looking at her from his gaunt face. Even his skin had rapidly turned yellow. She cleared her throat. "What do you think the chances are that the babies' deaths were caused by the foreign genes you inserted?"

     Victor didn't answer immediately. "I'd like to think the problem was unrelated. After all, none of the hundreds of animal experiments resulted in any health problems."

     "But you can't be sure?" Marsha asked.

     "I can't be sure," Victor agreed.

     "What about the other five zygotes?" Marsha asked.

     "What do you mean?" Victor asked. "They are stored in the freezer."

     "Are they normal or did you mutate them too?" Marsha asked.

     "All of them have the NGF gene," Victor said.

     "I want you to destroy them," Marsha said.

     "Why?" Victor asked.

     "You said you were sorry for what you'd done," Marsha said angrily. "And now you are asking why you should destroy them?"

     "I'm not going to implant them," Victor said. "I can promise you that. But I might need them to help figure out what went wrong with the Hobbs and Murray babies. Remember, their zygotes had both been frozen. That was the only difference between them and VJ."

     Marsha studied Victor's face. It was a horrible feeling to realize that she didn't know if she believed him or not. She did not like the idea of those zygotes being potentially viable.

     Before she could argue further, a crash shattered the night. Even before the sound of the broken glass faded, a high-pitched scream reverberated from VJ's room. Marsha and Victor leaped from the bed and ran headlong down the hall.

7. Later Tuesday Night

     VJ was curled up in a ball at the head of his bed, cradling his head in both hands. In the center of the room, resting on the rug, was a brick. A length of red ribbon was tied around it, securing a piece of paper, making the package appear like a gift. VJ's window had been smashed and shards of glass littered the room. Obviously the brick had been thrown from the driveway.

     Victor put out his hand to restrain Marsha from coming into the room and rushing to VJ's side.

     "Watch the glass!" Victor yelled.

     "VJ, are you all right?" Marsha shouted.

     VJ nodded.

     Reaching around Marsha, Victor grabbed the Oriental runner that extended down the hall. Pulling it into VJ's room, he let it roll out toward the window. Then he ran across it to look down at the driveway. He saw no one.

     "I'm going out," Victor said, running past Marsha.

     "Don't be a hero," Marsha yelled, but Victor was already halfway down the stairs. "And don't you move," she said to VJ. "There's so much glass, you're sure to be cut. I'll be right back."

     Marsha ran back to the master bedroom and hastily pulled on her slippers and her robe. Returning to VJ's room, she finally got to the bed. VJ allowed her to hug him. "Hold on," she said, as she strained to lift him up. He was heavier than she'd anticipated. Staggering to the hallway, she was glad to set him down.

     "A few months from now I won't be able to do that," she said with a groan. "You're getting too big for me."

     "I'm going to find out who did that," VJ snarled, finding his voice.

     "Did it frighten you, dear?" Marsha asked, stroking his head.

     VJ parried Marsha's hand. "I'm going to find out who threw that brick and I'm going to kill him."

     "You're safe now," Marsha said soothingly. "You can calm down. I know you're upset, but everything is all right. No one got hurt."

     "I'll kill him," VJ persisted. "You'll see. I'll kill him."

     "Okay," Marsha said. She tried to draw him to her but he resisted. For a moment she looked at him. His blazing eyes held a piercing, unchildlike intensity. "Let's go down to the study," she said. "I want to call the police."

     Victor ran the length of the driveway and stood in the street, looking both ways. Two driveways down, he heard a car being started. Just as he was debating sprinting in that direction, he saw the headlights come on and the car accelerate away. He couldn't tell the make.

     In frustration, he threw a rock after it, but there was no way he could have hit it. Turning around, he hurried back to the house. He found Marsha and VJ in the study. It was apparent they'd been talking, but as Victor arrived they stopped.

     "Where's the brick?" Victor asked, out of breath.

     "Still in VJ's room," Marsha said. "We've been too busy talking about how VJ is planning on killing whoever threw it."

     "I will!" VJ promised.

     Victor groaned, knowing how Marsha's mind would take this as further evidence that VJ was disturbed. He went back to his son's room. The brick was still where it had fallen after crashing through VJ's window. Bending down, he extracted the paper from beneath the ribbon. "Remember our deal" said the typed message. Victor made an expression of disgust. Who the hell had done this?

     Bringing the brick and the note with him, Victor returned to the study. He showed both to Marsha, who took them in her hands. She was about to say something when the downstairs doorbell sounded.

     "Now what?" Victor questioned.

     "Must be the police," Marsha said, getting to her feet. "I called them while you were outside running around." She left the room, heading down the stairs.

     Victor looked at VJ. "Scared you, huh, Tiger?"

     "I think that's obvious," VJ said. "It would have scared anyone."

     "I know," Victor said. "I'm sorry you're getting the brunt of all this, what with the phone call last night and the brick tonight. I'm sure you don't understand, but I've some personnel problems at the lab. I'll try to do something to keep this kind of thing from happening."

     "It doesn't matter," VJ said.

     "I appreciate you being a good sport about it," Victor said. "Come on, let's talk to the police."

     "The police won't do anything," VJ said. But he got up and started downstairs.

     Victor followed. He agreed, but he was surprised that at age ten, VJ knew it too.

     The North Andover police were polite and solicitous. A Sergeant Widdicomb and Patrolman O'Connor had responded to the call. Widdicomb was at least sixty-five, with florid skin and a huge beer belly. O'Connor was just the opposite: he was in his twenties and looked like an athlete. Widdicomb did all the talking.

     When Victor and VJ arrived in the foyer, Widdicomb was reading the note while O'Connor fingered the brick. Widdicomb handed the note back to Marsha. "What a dad-blasted awful thing," he said. "Used to be that this kinda stuff only happened in Boston, not out here." Widdicomb took out a pad, licked the end of a pencil and started taking notes. He asked the expected questions, like the time it happened, if they saw anyone, whether the lights had been on in the boy's room. VJ quickly lost interest and disappeared into the kitchen.

     After he ran out of questions, Widdicomb asked if they could take a gander around the yard.

     "Please," Marsha said, motioning toward the door.

     After the police left, Marsha turned to Victor. "Last night you told me not to worry about the threatening call, that you would look into it."

     "I know . . ." Victor said guiltily. She waited for Victor to continue. But he didn't.

     "A threatening phone call is one thing," Marsha said. "A brick through our child's window is quite another. I told you I couldn't handle any more surprises. I think you better give me some idea of these office problems you mentioned."

     "Fair enough," Victor said. "But let me get a drink. I think I could use one."

     VJ had the Johnny Carson show on in the family room and was watching, his head propped up against his arm. His eyes had a glazed look.

     "Are you okay?" Marsha called from the doorway to the kitchen.

     "Fine," VJ said without turning his head.

     "I think we should let him unwind," Marsha said, directing her attention to Victor, who was busy making them a hot rum drink.

     Mugs in hand, they sat down at the kitchen table. In capsule form, Victor highlighted the controversy with Ronald, the negotiations with Gephardt's attorney, Sharon Carver's threats, and the unfortunate situation with Hurst. "So there you have it," he concluded. "A normal week at the office."

     Marsha mulled over the four troublemakers. Aside from Ronald, she guessed any of the other three could be guilty of acting out.

     "What about this note?" she asked. "What deal is it referring to?"

     Victor took a drink, put the mug on the table, then reached across and took the note. He studied it for a moment, then said, "I haven't the slightest idea. I haven't made any deals with anyone." He tossed the paper onto the table.

     "Somebody must have thought you had," Marsha said.

     "Look, anyone capable of throwing a rock through our window is capable of fantasizing some mythical deal. But I'll get in touch with each of them and make sure they know that we are not going to sit idly by and allow them to throw bricks through our windows."

     "What about hiring some security?" Marsha asked.

     "It's an idea," Victor said. "But let me make these calls tomorrow. I have a feeling that it will solve this problem."

     The doorbell sounded again.

     "I'll get it," said Victor. He put his mug on the table and left the kitchen.

     Marsha got up and went into the family room. The TV was still on but Johnny Carson had changed to David Letterman.  It was that late. VJ was fast asleep. Turning off the TV, Marsha looked at her son. He looked so peaceful. There was no hint of the intense hostility that he'd displayed earlier. Oh God, she thought, what had Victor's experiment done to her darling baby?