Authors: D.S.
“After you finish my office, move on to the
lower floors—the cubicles and the common areas both need to be redone as soon
as possible. When those are complete, you may take care of any remaining
offices and workspaces.”
“What about the remaining laboratories?”
“We will tour those next, so that you may
decide what needs to be done. It depends on how long your crew takes to do the
rest of the tower and whether we are on budget.”
Ophelia smiled, then excused herself, leaving the contractor
with his thoughts for a moment. Some said that Ophelia Osborn had become as
eccentric as her father had before his death, but Brian Casler didn’t see it.
Those who whispered such things in the dark corners of cocktail parties either
misunderstood her work, or had only seen prototypes based on the ideas of
clients. Either way, Brian saw no need to be “extremely busy” as he had always
been when Dr. Osborn came calling.
“I must beg your pardon, Mr Casler,”
Ophelia said upon her return.
“But I will have to rejoin you
shortly.”
“Is there a problem?”
She shook her head.
“Mr Westbrooke just called
to remind me that the laboratories here in the Executive Tower are infrequently
used and may therefore not be entirely safe.”
Brian raised an eyebrow. “Anything we should be concerned
about?”
“Not you.”
Ophelia patted her belly
. “But I should probably take precautions just in case.
~*~
When
they met again an hour later, Ophelia’s bodyguard was absent. The older
gentleman had provided Brian with a mask and gloves…which left him feeling
slightly underdressed when Ophelia reappeared in full protective gear.
“Will Mr. Westbrooke be joining us?”
Ophelia shook her head as she opened a nearby door.
“He does not have the necessary clearance.”
Brian stepped in to hold the door and she gratefully ambled
past. After a few moments, however, it became clear that Ophelia would require
assistance going down the stairs at such an advanced state of pregnancy. The
contractor slipped in and took her free hand, artfully diverting her attention
with a question.
“How often are these labs used?”
“Infrequently since the laboratory complex
opened in 1991. At that time, activity down here became limited to what could
be performed without protection. Nevertheless, it is uncertain that the
regulations were ever completely obeyed.”
The two of them spoke at length about what projects had been
undertaken in the executive tower and what impact the establishment of
clearance levels had had on future studies. Brian took several minutes to look
around and when he came back, Ophelia appeared to be clutching her stomach.”
“Are you all right?”
“Perhaps my breakfast was not entirely
wholesome.”
Possible food poisoning seemed to be the least of her
worries, however, as Ophelia moved away from the staircase and made an effort
to continue their discussion. Brian noticed that she gave the center of the room
a wide berth as they walked, but he was too busy taking notes and answering
questions to linger on the thought.
~*~
“One of my major concerns is that the electrical work is not up to
code,”
she said.
“As far as the computers, I am still
unwilling to put these laboratories on our network, however—”
The contractor had pulled down his mask a few minutes before
and now that he was considering taking it off altogether, he noticed that
Ophelia was leaning against the glass chamber she’d been avoiding since the
beginning of their tour.
“Are you
sure
you’re okay?”
Brian's answer was the sound of running water. Ophelia’s eyes
closed.
“I don’t think your breakfast was the problem.” He looked at
the puddle near their feet. “More like contractions.”
She took a deep breath.
“Mr Westbrooke is
waiting in the corridor. Get him and then call for help.”
“Are you sure…?”
“Do not
argue!”
The scientist made an imperious gesture and Brian
sprinted up the stairs.
“Now,
Muirnín
?”
she murmured
after the contractor crashed through the door.
Ophelia fumbled at her wrists; she had argued against taping
her sleeves, but David had insisted. When her hands were free of the double
layer of gloves, Ophelia reached for the tape binding her boots. Fortunately,
she recalled enough of her first birth to know that it was unlikely that she
would deliver before completely shedding the remainder of her gear.
Where
is
he?
Ophelia thought, trying not to panic.
Even
if it will take the paramedics ten minutes or longer, he should be down here by
now!
Shimmying out of her street clothes, Ophelia pulled a drop
cloth off a nearby computer, flipped it over and threw it around her shoulders
to protect herself from the cold of the subterranean laboratory. As her
contractions increased, Ophelia found herself sitting on the floor of the
vaporization chamber, reaching for a comfort she hadn’t taken in a long time.
She prayed.
“
Dear Goddess and God,”
she murmured.
“Thank you for bringing David into my life and thank you for
the gift of another wonderful child.”
A scream interrupted her prayer and Ophelia realized it was
coming from her. It seemed that she was moments from delivery, without a single
painkiller to dull her mind.
“Please…”
Ophelia panted and tried
again.
“Please get the ambulance here quickly. And find…”
She stopped praying long enough to push; Normie was crowning.
“Find David!”
she cried at last.
Ophelia pushed again. At this rate, her son would be in her
arms before anyone came to the rescue. She muttered a quick oath and pushed a
final time. Before Ophelia could reach for him, Norman Edward Harold Osborn
drew breath and announced his presence to the world.
Unbeknownst
to his lover, David had seen the entire ordeal.
Brian had found him in the bathroom one floor up and David
had raced away almost before washing his hands. When he got there, however, he
discovered that the keypad wouldn’t respond to the emergency override command
Ophelia had given him. He slapped the pad in anger and it gave off a shower of
sparks and a small cloud of smoke. Nearly frantic, David had called the fire
department and begun pacing the hall.
Ophelia’s scream alerted him to the fact that she had begun
to deliver. David smacked the pad again and pounded on the door, but she was
lost in the throes of childbirth.
He watched anxiously as Ophelia struggled to bring their
second child into the world. David had a ferocious desire to be there, holding
her hand; but something—or someone—had decided otherwise. When Normie was free,
his lover struggled to her feet. David reached for his pocketknife, but quickly
realized that there was no way to pass it through the door so that she could
cut the umbilical cord.
“Dammit!”
By the time he had stowed the knife, Ophelia had found
something to sever the cord and was once again sitting on the floor of the
chamber. David was surprised at his lover’s calm, as if she thought nothing
more was wrong than the ambulance getting stuck in Manhattan traffic. He
watched a little longer…and when at last realized what was going on, it was too
late.
Unable
to clean him off, Ophelia had begun to nurse her son and thereby failed to
notice the closing of the chamber doors. Normie lost her breast and began to
cry almost in synchronization with the first hiss.
Ophelia’s mind screamed at her to get up and do something,
but it was no use. The chamber had been designed with the idea that the
occupant would be securely strapped to the gurney, with no desire to get out.
There was no way to open the doors unless someone pressed the emergency
decompression button on the outside.
She tried to guide her son back to her breast, but her hands
had begun to shake. Normie attempted to find the source of nourishment for
himself, but was bouncing fruitlessly off her ribs, so tightly were his eyes
closed against the vapors. If his hunger pangs weren’t bad enough, Ophelia
noticed that the encroaching fog seemed to make him cry harder. Her eyes
tearing, she began to sing an Irish lullaby. When she drew breath for the next
verse, Ophelia glanced up to find her father’s visage leering at her from the
chamber glass.
Last Will
and
Testament of
Dr. Norman E. Osborn,
Ph.D.
I, Doctor Norman Edward Osborn, Ph.D., a
resident of the Borough of Manhattan, City of New York, County of New York and
State of New York, being of sound mind and memory, do hereby make, publish and
declare this to be my last will and testament, revoking all prior wills and
codicils at any time heretofore made by me.
I married Emmeline Maire Padraig on
October 27, 1973 in the City of Dublin, County of Dublin, Republic of Ireland.
We have been divorced since May 25, 1983, pursuant to the order of the 45
th
Probate Court of New York County. She has since remarried and will be referred
to as “Emily Sullivan” hereon.
I am the father of two living children:
Ophelia Rhiannon, born October 31, 1978 (hereby referred to as “my daughter”)
and Harold Ambrose, born February 22, 1983 (hereby referred to as “my son”). In
the event that I am the sole surviving parent of minor children, I appoint Dr.
Mendel William Stromm to serve as their guardian. If he is unable or unwilling
to serve, then my daughter and my son shall become wards of Emily Sullivan.
Article I
Executor
I hereby name, constitute and appoint my
daughter as executor to administer my estate. If my daughter shall fail, cease
or be unable to serve as executor for any reason, then Emily Sullivan shall
serve as successor executor of my estate. Furthermore, let it be known that at
no time shall my son serve as executor of my estate.
Should the laws of the state in which my
last will and testament is probated allow it, then my executor shall not be
required to furnish a bond for the faithful performance of her duties as
executor.
In the event the laws of the state in
which my last will and testament is probated allow it, I authorize my executor
to administer my estate independently without adjudication, order or direction
of any court. The decision to administer my state independently or under court
supervision shall rest solely with my executor.
My executor shall be paid reasonable
compensation for serving in this office.
Article II
Burial/Payment of Debts
Article III
Charitable Gifts
No charitable gifts shall be made in my
name with any of my money or any part of my estate or bequests.
Article IV
Specific Bequests