"Roland?"
"Yes, mother?" the boy answered, appearing promptly. His blue eyes and sandy blond hair gave him an angelic expression. No one believed Hendrika when she said her son was a handful. In public, he was perfect. At home, strange things were always happening.
For example, Roland always wore that disgusting old white lab coat that had belonged to his father. In his life, Bastiaan had been a bad father, Hendrika thought. He'd been abusive to her. Roland thought his father was his hero now that he was dead. Bastiaan ter Borcht's laboratory had exploded while he was doing one of his genetic experiments.
"Where is our canary, son?" Hendrika asked, looking into those limpid blue eyes. Roland smiled. Though she would never say it aloud, her son scared her.
"Oh, the cat must have eaten it," he replied breezily.
"I haven't seen the cat in days," Hendrika answered, faltering slightly. Roland put his fingers to his mouth, and whistled.
"Witlof!" he called. A small, furry form appeared. It was limping slightly. The cat appeared, something yellow on its back.
Hendrika cried out in horror. Small, yellow wings were fluttering on the cat's back. It sat down and yowled, stretching out one tiny wing. Hendrika scooped it up. Its back was misshapen, and there were heavy stitches around the wings.
"Roland!" she gasped.
"It was an experiment. I've grafted on Witlof!" said Roland gleefully.
"You can't do that to the cat! He must be suffering! Oh, this is terrible," she moaned. The cat snuggled deeper into her arms, meowing pitifully.
"Father left me some of his tools. He forgot anesthesia," Roland sighed. "But I read on DNA splicing. Mother, cats could fly! Even maybe—humans."
"No, child! This is wrong. Where's the bird?"
"I buried it."
"Roland! How could you murder innocent animals? How could you even think to harm people in this way? Go to your room, and I will dispose of your tools!" Hendrika shouted.
Roland's eyes filled with tears. Didn't his mother appreciate what he'd done? Didn't she know he'd all done it for her, so she'd be proud of him? He ran upstairs so no one would see him cry. No one ever did.
Hendrika soothed the cat, and poured it a bowl of milk. She added a bit of whisky, and served it to the cat. Witlof drank down the concoction and tottered off, only to fall asleep a minute later.
Hendrika went upstairs to her room, resigned. Bastiaan is still ruining my life, she thought darkly. She tucked herself into bed. She would apologize to Roland later, when he'd thought about murder and experiments. She yawned and turned off her lamp.
Roland peered over his mother's calm, sleeping face. No matter what she said now, he knew she'd be glad when she'd finally be able to fly. He'd found some—what was it again?—oh, yes, chloroform. According to his father's old books, it knocked you right out, especially for surgical procedures.
Roland picked up one of his sharpest scalpels, and shot a look at the frozen body of a hawk he'd killed earlier that day. This would be an experiment to remember.