IV.
The silver clock on the blue craft room wall ticks loudly in the quiet of the house; no kids are yelling upstairs, no TV stereo is blaring ESPN from the family room – just a peaceful, reassuring quiet that seems to embrace the hypnotic tick of the clock. Dressed in a two-piece aqua track suit, Alison Hendrix sits at her white craft table. Neat piles of brightly colored coupons create a frame around a brand new cell phone sitting in the exact center of the table. The phone is flanked on the left side by a pair of blue handled scissors and on the right by a black Walther P99 pistol. Alison's tongue clicks against the back of her teeth, in time with the clock's seconds hand. It's as close to a state of Zen as she's reached in a very long time; for just a moment she finds bliss in the neatly ordered world of her craft room, where the Geneva clock is not the only precise thing about her life. The clock's seconds hand clicks to '12' and it is now exactly 10:45 AM.
Alison allows herself one more contented tongue click; then she sighs and feels her inner peace rush out. She picks up the phone and dials into voicemail, pressing speakerphone and placing the phone back in its spot on the table. The voicemail clicks through then plays the message, "There are no new messages. There are eight saved messages." Alison's finger lingers over the 'delete messages' key but then, just as she's done for the past four days, she scrolls down and selects the 'play saved messages' option. Silence and then:
"First saved message, February 3rd at 10:32 AM: 'Uh, yeah, this is – er – C. I'm safe – for now. Have made contact and will be heading West soon. Okay. Del – I mean D, leave a message as soon as possible; let me know you're okay. I didn't plan to get separated like that, but…damn, okay, just call. Please.'
Second saved message, February 3rd at 2:47 PM: 'This is S and F. C – I thought you said to only leave short messages. Negative on Tokyo, but we're safe and following another lead.'
Third saved message, February 4th at 3:03 AM: 'Seriously, D – please call. Let me know you're okay. Okay? Uh, this is C. Okay. Bye.'
Fourth saved message, February 4th at 12:16 PM: 'Oi, oi, ladies. This is F and S. We're still safe, just a little grumpy – well S is anyway. Ta ta for now.'
Fifth saved message, February 4th at 5:08 PM: *long pause, followed by sniffling sounds* 'Please call, D.'
Sixth saved message, February 5th at 1:28 AM: 'I'm fine, ma chère. I'm so sorry I haven't been able to call before now. Merde! I have to go, but I'll see you soon – yes?'
Seventh save message, February 5th at 1:32 AM: 'Oh, thank God, Delph – er – D! This is C, obvs. It's good to hear your voice! Um, yeah, I'm heading your way tomorrow. So, um, hey, I'll see you soon! And S, A, and F, you be S-A-F-E, okay? Ha, ha, ha. Uh, so I may be a little stoned right now *sound of potato chips crunching*, but I'm totally feeling okay lungs-wise; I think the weed may actually be helping. Mother Nature's miracle cure and all that. So, okay…I'm glad you finally called, D – see you soon. And….shit, I dropped my joint – hang on just a mo –'
Eighth saved message, February 5th at 9:42 AM: 'Seriously, C, wasn't it you who said to keep the messages brief? Glad D is okay, though. F and I are safe – for now, though things got a little hairy yesterday. No word yet on K but we'll keep looking. Everyone stay safe, yeah?'
End of messages."
Alison considers her phone again. To delete or not to delete? Finally she exits out of voicemail and punches in speed dial for Lilith Charles. The phone immediately goes to the auto-attendant. Alison picks up the phone and holds it to her cheek. "This is A. I'm safe at home. Still. Everyone be careful." For the last four days she's left the same message, quick and precise like clockwork. Except this time she's added the word 'still'. It's only a small thing, but Alison purses her lips angrily at herself and shuts the phone off. She places the phone back down on the center of the table, aligns it perfectly using her two index fingers and thumbs. She glances at the clock for reassurance: 10:55 AM - precisely. Sitting up straight in her chair, Alison tries to achieve a nirvana state again, clicking her tongue in time with the seconds hand: tick, tick, tick. But now she can only feel an unsettled flutter in her chest.
Bang, bang, bang!
The metal sliding door reverberates under Art's clenched fist. The din echoes down the narrow brick hallway tagged in arcs of brightly colored spray paint. Angie stands next to Detective Bell, her gun drawn and ready. Bang, bang, bang! He pounds again, this time yelling, "Open up! This is the police!"
There is only silence on the other side of the door. Art glances over at his partner who shrugs. He tests the door with just his fingertips and discovers that the door isn't locked, rather it glides smoothly open. The two detectives stand in the doorway looking into the apartment. Inside furniture is smashed and twisted, ripped pages from books lay in crumpled heaps on the floor, and splatters of yellow, red, blue, green paint coat the floor in swirls of color as if the room is one giant spin art piece. Art takes one small step in and his foot slips in a pool of orange paint on the floor. As he begins to fall, Angie deftly catches him and rights him on his feet.
He murmurs his thanks and steps back out into the hallway, leaving orange shoe prints on the cement floor. "Great," he says, prying off the offending shoe.
"Well, it sure looks like someone's been having fun," Angie whistles, still standing in the doorway peering into Felix's apartment. "You think it's the same people who tossed the foster mother's place?"
"I'd bet on it. Either way, though, it sure looks like Sara Manning has gone underground."
In a surge of fury, Angie grabs the handle on the door and slides it closed with ferocious slam, yelling "Suck my salty matzah balls, motherfucker!"
"Really?" Art asks straight-faced, looking up from his painted shoe at her. She stands looking back at him with her fists on her hips, practically growling. Then her frown cracks into a smile and she chuckles, "Yeah, I might have been up late last night binge watching Dexter again."
"Oh good. I love it when you do that – always makes for a fun day of creative expletives and morbid dialogue. Alright, clearly we're coming up against brick walls again." Art pulls a small leather-bound notebook out of his inside jacket pocket. He starts flipping through the pages, scrutinizing his notes. Finally he settles on a page. He puts his shoe back on, then pulls his phone out, calling the precinct. "Thacker – hey, it's Detective Bell – yeah, hey, I need you to run an address through the system for me, find out who lives there…yeah, okay it's 35 Black Oak Drive in Scarborough. Yeah – 'B' – as in Black…" he rolls his eyes at Angie who squints back at him. "Sure, I'll hold." He covers the speaker with his thumb and shakes his head at Angie, "How Thacker ever made it to the force…" – he takes his thumb away – "Yep, I'm still here…seriously? It's 'O' as in Oak…"
"Is that the place we swung by the other day?" Angie hisses. Art nods his head and speaks into the phone again, "Alright, you say it's Alison and Donnie Hendrix. Any priors on either of them? None? Okay. Yep, I got it – Hendrix – with an 'H'. Okay, thanks –" he starts to hit end, but then puts the phone back up to his ear. "What was that? No, this isn't about the strangulation. 32 Black Oak Drive, you say? Huh. When'd that call come in? Aynsley Norris? Alright…got it. Thanks, Thacker."
"What's going on?"
Art shrugs. "Probably nothing. There's no priors on Alison Hendrix."
"She's the look alike?"
"I assume so, yeah. But Thacker recognized the address from a call that came in a few days ago, apparently there was some kind of freak accident at the house across the street. A woman's scarf got caught in the garbage disposal and it strangled her."
"Wicked. I mean, jeez. How does something like that happen anyway?"
"Really crappy luck? Come on. I think it's time we made another run out to the suburbs," Art says as he slides his notebook and phone back into his jacket.
"Shouldn't we call this in?" Angie jerks her thumb back at the apartment door.
"I don't want to bother with the paperwork right now. Let's just go speak with this Hendrix woman first; we'll call this in later." He turns and starts down the stairs, leaving a trail of orange treads. Angie following close behind. As they descend, their conversation floats up the stairwell: "So did the scarf actually strangle her or did her neck snap?"
"What?"
"The woman and her garbage disposal? I mean either way she died of asphyxia, but…"
"Jeez, Angie! Stop watching Dexter!"
"What? Hey, a girl's gotta have a hobby…"
A black limo pulls up in front of the new, modern office building, constructed mainly from glass and gray metal panels. Sunlight glints off the odd angles of the roofline as the black-tinted windows that make up much of the building's façade obstruct all view of the building's interior. The polished chrome trapezoidal plinth in front of the structure reads "The DYAD Institute • Irvine, CA."
The limo driver gets out of the vehicle, walks around to the other side and opens the door for the occupant within. A thoroughly awe-struck Cosima emerges, shading her bespectacled eyes from the sun as she soaks in the view of the building. She's wearing purple heels and a purple dress that slopes down at the back, almost mirroring the slope of the building's roofline. She continues to stare, gripping her briefcase to her chest, until the driver clears his throat, "Excuse me, Miss. Dr. Leekie phoned me just as we were pulling up. He said he would meet you inside at the front desk."
"What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Thank you."
The driver nods and walks back around to the driver's side of the limo, where he disappears with a slam. The sound seems to jump start Cosima; she moves forward, up the four wide steps to the office building's revolving darkly-tinted doors where she hesitates. A feeling of dread creeps up the concrete steps after her, presses against her back.
"Great. Well, here goes. Once more into the breach, my friend," she murmurs to herself, "you brave and buggered fool."
The revolving doors swallow her and for a moment she feels trapped until the doors rotate open into a huge bright white lobby, decorated sparsely with minimalist black leather furniture and a maze of aluminum air ducts and blue LED pendulum lights overhead. At the end of the lobby is a large circular reception desk built out of what Cosima can only describe as the world's coolest fish tank. She can see bright fish darting in and out of small coral reefs and just a flash of long, dark legs that belong to the receptionist who sits behind the desk, wearing a very short red dress. Beyond and to the left of the reception desk are two large electric blue doors which are flanked on either side by two large burly men in black uniforms. Each man holds a large, black semi-automatic in their hands.
Cosima gulps and sways in place for a moment. And then her heels are clicking across the marble tile floor of the lobby towards the aquarium desk. She hopes her exaggerated saunter covers the fact that her knees are practically knocking together.
"Hi. I'm Cosima Niehaus. I believe I'm expected," she says as she reaches the reception area.
"Yes, Miss Niehaus, Dr. Leekie told me to expect you. He should join us here momentarily."
"Oh. Good. So…this is some place you've got here," Cosima says, running her left hand across the chrome surface of the desk. She glances down at the fish tank portion of the console, eyes sinking into a watery world of blues and greens in which fish of all colors and sizes dance and spin.
"Can I offer you anything? A coffee? Water?"
"Do you happen to have any courage on hand?" Cosima half teases, still mesmerized by the salt water tank.
"I'm afraid I only have coffee or water." The receptionist's response is completely lost on Cosima, however, who has just caught sight of something in the tank that makes her whistle and lean down farther until she's practically sitting on her heels, nose pressed up against the glass.
The doors behind the reception desk open and both Dr. Leekie and Dr. Cormier walk through, each donning white lab coats. Leekie pauses, looks around the seemingly empty lobby before turning to the receptionist. "I thought the driver said that Ms. Niehaus had arrived."
"Yes, she did." The receptionist points to the front of the desk.
"Ah, yes," Aldoues says as both he and Delphine walk around the desk to find Cosima still pressed face-first against the curved side of the tank.
"Cosima." No response. "Cosima," Aldous says louder.
"What? Huh? Oh!" Cosima rises swiftly to her feet then has to balance herself against the desk as a wave of dizziness momentarily passes over her. "Oh, Dr. Leekie." When she spots Delphine, just slightly behind and to the right of Leekie, Cosima has to grip the edge of the desk again. "And, uh, Delphine." Her thick voice cracks and she takes a moment to clear her throat before saying, "Umm, oh, I was just – just admiring the tank…"
"It is quite –"
"But are those – are those Axolotl? 'Mexican Walking Fish'?" She points enthusiastically at a group of five brownish fish-like creatures who are crawling along the bottom of the fish tank on four legs.
"Why, yes, actually. Don't tell me you're an ichthyologist as well as an evolutionary biologist."
"Oh, they're just a personal favorite of mine. And technically they aren't fish at all, but rather amphibians. I know a lot of scientists who use them for research because of the Axototls' regenerative abilities – they can regrow severed limbs – and because their eggs are so large it's possible to observe the embryos gestate. Personally, I just think they're super cool reminders of where we came from. Up out of the ocean depths and onto dry land, as it were."
"Always the Darwinist, Ms. Niehaus. Well, you'll fit in quite nicely here. Welcome to the DYAD Institute, where wonders are just around every corner." He sweeps his arms out and bows a little.
"I didn't realize I was signing up for Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory. Will there be a psychedelic boat ride later?" Cosima's eyes slide to Delphine who is fighting a grin.
"And always the cheeky one, too, I see. Well, if you'll follow Dr. Cormier and me, we'll show you around," Aldous says, offering his arm to Cosima. She walks past him and falls in step with Delphine as the blonde turns and ushers Cosima towards the blue doors at the end of the lobby. As the doors hiss open automatically, Cosima glances nervously from side to side at the guards. "Hi," she squeaks and waves nervously at both of them, "I'm new here." Neither man shows any sign of having heard her. Cosima leans towards Delphine, "They're not going to shoot me are they?"
"No. They're really only there for show," Delphine teases back under her breath.
"Hmm, they do match the furniture nicely."
The doors lead to a main corridor from which a myriad of narrower corridors branch off in several directions. The floors here are black epoxy that glare in the bright white light of the overhead fluorescents and reflect the white metal paneling of the walls. Cosima feels like she's just stepped into a rat maze.
"How was your trip from Minneapolis? I trust you enjoyed the private flight?" Leekie asks, catching up to the two women as the lobby doors close behind them.
"It was fine."
"Have you had time to see your new apartment yet?"
"No, the limo brought me straight here."
"Well you're personal items should actually be arriving today, as well, so you should be able to settle in quickly tonight. Shall we show you to the research lab first? Your home away from home?"
"Sure. You're the tour guide."
Leekie smiles and turns down the second corridor on their right, Cosima and Delphine trailing behind.
"How are you feeling?" Delphine asks as they walk.
"Fine; tired, but the coughing episodes haven't been too frequent."
Delphine audibly sighs. "Good. Well, we have you set up to see our team of doctor's this afternoon. They'll run a series of diagnostic tests, take x-rays, et cetera – determine the extent of your illness."
"Looks like it's scientific experimentation for me, then," Cosima jokes, but Delphine gives her a serious look, eyeing her up and down as if performing her own diagnostic scan.
"It's important that you keep us informed on your health, Cosima – let us know if you notice any changes in your symptoms or in your energy level," Aldous says as he pulls up in front of a heavy-looking white door.
"I said I'm fine."
"Ah, yes. Well, Cosima, here we are – your own private lab; well, our own private lab. No one who isn't on the team gets past these doors, so we're assured of complete confidentiality."
Cosima glances up and down the corridor. "I'm not sure if I can find my way back here again."
"Oh, you'll get used to it. As you see, this is room 1S-17," Aldous says, pointing to the black room ID number etched into the white lintel above the door. "And here," he points to the retinal scanner and pin pad to the right of the door, "is the security pad. You'll need to use both the retinal scan plus type in your seven digit number in order to access the room; we'll make sure to get your code set up later this morning." Leekie leans towards the retinal scanner, opening his right eyelids wide with his fingers. A green light on the security pad lights up and he hastily punches in a code; activating a second green light. The lab door slides open automatically.
The room behind the open door is as sophisticated a laboratory as Cosima has ever seen; it's filled with a wide assortment of brand new lab equipment laid out in neat lines along the sterile table tops. Cosima sucks in her breath and practically skips forward into the room, her wide eyes zooming back and forth in every direction taking it all in. She's actually 'ooohing' as she walks around the lab, reaching out every once in awhile to touch a line of flasks, a microscope, a centrifuge, an incubator. Both Delphine and Leekie have stepped into the room, the door hissing shut behind them. They watch Cosima dance around the room, as smiles creep across both their faces.
The far end wall of the laboratory is made of thick tinted glass that looks out into an outdoor courtyard, vibrant with exotic plants. Cosima stops in front of it, her fingers splayed against the window, peering out. She suddenly spins around, hands clasping together and she laughs a long throaty laugh.
"Amazing, isn't it?" Delphine asks, her eyes beaming with her own laughter.
"This is – more than amazing. It's, it's, oh, holy Einstein, is that an AutoGenprep 965?" She moves towards a machine covered in a white lift-top lid, which she lifts up. Beneath is a row of silver pipettes capping sterile test tubes. "This is like, top of the line in DNA sequencers. It must cost a fortune."
"Well, yes," Leekie confirms. "And we have two of them – just in this lab alone." But Cosima isn't really listening, she's already moved on to a 3D display microscope.
"Whoa, oh, this is awesome," she says pushing buttons until it turns on. She waves her hand under the microscope and the image is displayed on the large monitor next to the microscope. Her skin looks like an arid, alien landscape riddled with deep valleys, sink holes, and tall spiny vegetation. "This baby has a 2500x zoom. Crazy cool."
"I take it the lab is up to your satisfaction?" Dr. Leekie asks.
"Dude," Cosima whistles looking back and forth between Leekie and Delphine, "this is the Chocolate Factory! I'm half expecting the Ooompa-Loompas to burst through the door and start singing about species specific effects of oxygen deprivation in synthetically generated human mesenchymal and hemopoietic stem cells."
The lab door slides open and Cosima's mouth drops. But instead of diminutive green-haired men, a single woman with severely bobbed blonde hair strides in, tall in a pair of two inches black heels and a matching black business dress.
"Ah," the woman says with a clipped British accent as she spots Cosima, "good. They told me you had arrived, Ms. Niehaus."
"Er –" Cosima squeaks.
"Rachel Duncan," the other woman offers, striding forward confidently with her hand outstretched. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Oh, yes," Cosima fumbles, suddenly feeling very, very awkward. She thrusts out her own hand and shakes Rachel's outstretched one, perhaps a little too eagerly. "It's good to meet you."
Rachel takes her hand back with a small tug, brushes it against her dress as she turns towards Dr. Leekie. "Aldous," she greets. She then turns towards Delphine and offers a hand to her as well, "And you must be Dr. Cormier. Aldous tells me that you have done exemplary work on behalf of the Institute."
"Thank you. It's kind of you to say," Delphine says graciously as she shakes Rachel's hand.
"Um, I'm sorry. Ah, Rachel is it?" Cosima interjects. Rachel turns away from Delphine, clasping her hands together with a slight forward tilt, a gesture that Cosima can't help but compare to Alison.
"It's Ms. Duncan, yes."
"Oh, of course, Ms. Duncan. Yes. I'm sorry, but are you on our research team?"
"Oh." Rachel's laugh is like birds twittering. "No. I'm the CEO of the DYAD Institute's main headquarters in London. I just happened to be in town for a conference and I wanted to meet you. I trust that you're finding the facilities to your liking?"
Cosima is openly staring at Rachel now. She blinks several times before realizing that Rachel is waiting for a response. "Oh, sorry, yes. I was just telling Dr. Leekie and Del—Dr. Cormier how amazing everything is…sorry, I don't mean to stare. You'd think I'd be used to the Clone Club by now, but, you know – eeep."
And now it's Rachel who is looking Cosima up and down. "The Clone Club?" she asks, her clipped accent even more pointed.
"Oh. It's what we call it – Alison, Beth, Sarah and I. Well, not Beth anymore. Except, of course, there's you now. Just don't use the 'C' word – that's Alison's rule."
"Hmm…"
"Yeah, so, uh, you said you're the head of the London Division?"
"That's right."
"Are you a scientist, too, then?"
"No, not really. My background is actually in Child Psychology with a Masters in Macro Economics."
"Sounds like the perfect combination for a career in the human trafficking of children," Cosima quips. She smiles lopsidedly to show she's trying to be funny.
"Yes, well. Hmm…it has been a pleasure, Ms. Niehaus. Aldous?" She asks, turning back to him, "May I have a word in private please?"
"Of course. Dr. Cormier, perhaps you wouldn't mind showing Cosima the rest of the facility while I'm away?"
"Certainly."
As Rachel and Aldous depart, Cosima turns to Delphine, the brunette's mouth already forming a question as she reaches towards the taller woman. Delphine's suddenly wide eyes make Cosima stop short. She follows Delphine's casual eye movements to two corners of the room where she spots surveillance cameras, red recording lights blinking. Cosima's mouth snaps shut and her hand falls back to her side as she shifts slightly backwards and away from the other woman.
Delphine forces a polite smile and carefully says, "I'm glad to hear that you like the lab – we've been working tirelessly the last few days to make sure everything was ready for your arrival."
"Oh, yes, well," Cosima draws out as her mind scrambles to think of something benign to say, "I can certainly tell; it, uh, has everything."
"I don't believe Dr. Leekie mentioned it but there are five of us on the research team. Aside from Dr. Leekie, yourself, and I, there are Dr. Yun Yi and Dr. Joris Hyman. You'll meet them first thing tomorrow morning; today is mainly a tour of the facility and, of course, the medical tests this afternoon."
"I'm sorry – did you say, 'Dr. Hyman'?" Cosima asks, cocking her head in a way she knows Delphine finds charming. Delphine fights the sudden laugh rising in her chest by biting her bottom lip. The immunologist shakes her head slowly at the other woman, but the spark in her brown eyes makes Cosima's smile widen.
"Yes, I did. He's actually a very well respected pulmonologist," Delphine says slowly, trying to sound serious. She starts heading for the door while she continues, "I'm sure you'll like him; he drives a Volvo."
"Wait – seriously?" Cosima asks, tagging along beside her. Delphine looks at her and shrugs, but her eyes are gleaming merrily. She touches Cosima's arm briefly in what she hopes looks like just a casual gesture and says, "Come on, I'll show you the rest of the facility."
Cosima grin is absolutely toothy now, damn the cameras. "Okay, but only if we get to ride on the psychedelic boat ride."
Delphine narrows her eyes at the brunette, tilts her head and smiles secretively. "We'll see, mon amie, we'll see. Hmm, but only if you promise not to swim in the rivière de chocolat…'' As the lab door slides shut behind them, Cosima's voice echoes throatily down the white corridor, "Hey, even I know what that means – and I'm not promising anything!"
"Chocolate?" Aldous offers, holding out a box of locally-made, cruelty-free bonbons to the woman who stands before his desk. "They're delicious." He draws the 's' out extra long through his large teeth. Rachel's arched eyebrow practically disappears into her hairline. She folds her hands together, pointedly not accepting Aldous' offer.
"You're in a good mood today, Aldous."
"Hmm, well, I always enjoy showing off the facility – especially to someone as full of wonderment as Cosima." Aldous rocks back in his brown plush sued office chair, his elbows leaning on the chair arms as he shakes one long index finger at Rachel. "You know, I seem to recall a young girl who was equally as enchanted – I used to see her skipping up and down the hallways singing Lehrer's "The Elements Song." In fact, Ava tells me that's her favorite song now –"
"Yes, well, Ava aside for the moment," Rachel begins and every word sounds like she's chewing them, "is everything ready for Ms. Niehaus' medical tests this afternoon?"
"I hand-selected the doctors myself – picked from the best of our ranks. They'll give us a detailed analysis on the state of Cosima's current health and check for all the usual culprits: bacterial infection, cancer, pulmonary aspiration, blood clots—"
"We already know what it is, Aldous, we've seen it multiple times before."
"You know I hate it when you call me that."
Rachel sighs and straightens the jumble of pens that stand in the yellow ceramic mug on Leekie's desk. Aldous watches her for a moment before continuing, "Spontaneous cell degeneration, yes – perhaps – but we need to make sure that we're not dealing with something else. Treating her for the wrong thing could be as bad as no treatment."
"We can't afford to lose another one of them," Rachel says as she straightens the last pen.
"I know. I certainly don't plan to – sit down already would you, please? You're making me nervous with all of your fussing." Rachel rolls her eyes slightly but she sits down gracefully in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Leekie makes a pleased 'ah' noise. "Good. Now, as I was saying, I have everything lined up with the doctors and with my lab team. Dr. Cormier has agreed to run the blood samples herself, as well as a full DNA analysis - match it against all known pulmonary conditions. Once we isolated the cause, we can start working on a way to fix or, at least, slow the damage. The team in Tokyo has already made some great strides forward –"
"That's what you said when Aimee became ill."
Aldous steeples his fingers together and glances out his tinted office window. It's an old argument between the two and Aldous feels the shard of guilt move in his chest like it always does when Aimee's name is mentioned. That Rachel's words drip with long embittered accusation doesn't help. Aldous crosses his legs and idly plays with the shoestrings on his black Converse. A long silence descends on the two as they both seem to dwell in a place of memories. Finally Aldous licks the corner of his mouth before very abruptly changing the subject, "Any word on Sarah Manning?"
"No. Not yet, seems she's deserted all of her known haunts. Even the police are looking for her, without success, so far. But, thanks to your Mr. Dierden we know that she and her foster brother are looking for Sarah's daughter. They'll crawl out of the woodwork sooner or later looking for answers –"
"And we'll be waiting for them," Aldous finishes.
"Correct..." but the way Rachel's word trails off and the way she is now looking sideways at him, makes him realize that there is something else on her mind now.
"What?"
"I trust that you have the situation with Dr. Cormier under control as well?"
"The situation?" Aldous' lips twist up at the corner as he scrutinizes her. The normally very stoic and business-like woman before him squirms in her chair under his gaze. She reaches for the name plate on his desk and ever so intensely straightens it so it's perfectly aligned with the edge of the table. Finally he un-steeples his fingers and laughs gutturally. "Ah…you've been talking with Diana."
Rachel looks up at him from beneath her lashes as she runs her left pinky through her blonde bobbed hairdo. Leekie laughs again. "Yes, clearly she's been regaling you with more sagas of my lecherous ways. Well," he says leaning forward in his chair, "next time you see your mother, please tell her that I am thoroughly enjoying Dr. Cormier's – what's the term – professional assistance."
Rachel shakes her head and rises elegantly out of her chair. "You can tell her yourself next time you decide to go home." She picks up a stray paperclip that rests askew on his desk. As she plops it into the paperclip tray, she adds, "Father."
It's the closest thing to a farewell that Aldous receives from her before she spins on her heel and departs his office.
"You've barely eaten anything, dear."
Alison blinks at her plate of sirloin cutlets and sautéed zucchini and yellow squash, then up at the woman sitting across from her at the dining room table.
There is something about Caroline Hendrix that has always made Alison feel as though she is doing something wrong; perhaps it's her mother's gray, flinty eyes that never cease to narrow slightly when they look at Alison or perhaps it's the trace of disappointment that seems to lace every word she sends Alison's way. Whatever it is, Alison always finds the muscles in her neck tightening when her mother is around. In high school Alison's anxiety was so intense she developed a head tick whenever her mother so much as entered a room. Even now Alison feels a tremor building in her spine and she puts a hand to her cheek to calm herself.
"Have you not been feeling well?"
"I'm fine, Dad," she says, turning to the man who sits next to her at the table. She puts her fork down and pats his arm affectionately. The blue eyes under his bushy white eyebrows smile at her as he pats her hand back.
"Good, good."
"Do you like your surprise, Mommy?" Gemma asks and Oscar says, "Yeah - were you surprised when Grandma and Grandpa showed up?"
Alison had been surprised alright, but none too pleased when Donnie brought the kids home from the mall later that morning. The kids had bolted through the back door cheering, "Surprise! Surprise! Surprise!" Alison had laughed with them, thinking they had bought her home a gift – they were always bringing her small items back from their shopping trips with their dad (generally garish cartoon stickers for her scrapbooking that she pretended to love, but promptly hid away into a bottom drawer in her craft room when the kids weren't around) – but this time she looked up to see her mother and father entering just behind a grinning Donnie.
She had pulled Donnie aside as soon as the opportunity presented itself and hissed, "Why didn't you warn me they were coming for a visit?!" Donnie actually looked taken aback, "I thought you'd want to see them, especially now that things are getting back to normal again around here." Alison closed her eyes and clamped her teeth. The vein in her temple throbbed. "Fine, but they're not staying the night!" She'd exclaimed and stormed back out into the living room where her mother was dispensing presents for the kids from her overnight bag. "Where's Dad?" She'd asked and her mother had said, "Why he's taking our other luggage up to the guest bedroom, of course. Be a dear and take this up, too, for me." She tried to hand Alison the bag but Alison had made a sound halfway between a sob and a curse before spinning around to go back to the kitchen. Moments later Alison started chopping up vegetables for lunch with such vehemence that everyone decided it was better to stay out of the room until she was done.
Ding dong! The doorbell shakes Alison from her thoughts.
"Were you expecting anyone else?" Alison asks turning to Donnie, a forkful of zucchini halfway to her mouth.
"No…" He looks at her expectantly.
Ding dong! Ding dong!
"I'll get it!" Gemma announces, jumping up from her chair.
"You'll do no such thing, young lady," Alison says as she rises out of her own chair and wags a finger at her daughter. "You stay here and finish all your vegetables, then you may have dessert." Alison wipes her mouth with her cloth napkin before she heads towards the front entryway.
At the door, Alison pauses to look out the side window. A black man and white woman stand outside, both dressed in jeans and dark winter jackets. The man sees Alison peering out and he flashes his police badge. Alison's mouth pops open in a wide 'O' and disappears out of sight behind the door. "Jesus, Joseph, and Mary!" She exclaims under her breath, crossing herself for good measure. She takes an extra moment to collect herself; she smooths down her bangs, straightens her blouse, and puts her hand to her heart, inhaling deeply several times. Alison opens the door.
"Yes?" She asks.
"Alison Hendrix?" The man asks as both he and the woman examine her with narrowed eyes that would put her mother to shame.
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Hendrix, I'm Detective Art Bell and this is my partner, Detective Angela Deangelis." This time they both present their badges so she can examine them. Alison feels the world tilt; there is definitely a buzzing sound in her head as she realizes that this man is Beth's former partner. "We'd like to speak with you regarding Aynsley Norris. Could we come in?"
Alison puts her hand to her throat trying to unstick her words. Finally she says, "I have company right now. Can this wait until another time?"
"It's really important that we speak to you – it will only take a few moments."
Alison glances back into the house where she can hear the clatter of silverware on plates and the murmured voices of her family. She looks back at the officers. "Alright," she says, "but I'll speak to you out here." She steps out onto the porch and pulls the front door closed behind her.
The young male orderly is obnoxiously clicking his pen again as he scans his clipboard full of notes.
Cosima fights the urge to rip off all of the EKG leads stuck to her various body parts and strangle him with them. Instead she grits her teeth and glares up at the ceiling trying to pretend that she's anywhere else but lying on a gurney, wearing only a skimpy medical dress, and shivering in the cold, sterile exam room buried deep within the bowels of the DYAD's Irvine facility.
The orderly stands to her left, his mop of curly brown hair obscuring most of his face while on her right an older, middle-aged doctor with a severe black mustache and short cropped hair, checks her vitals. She can't decide which of the two she hates the most. The blood pressure cuff on her right bicep automatically turns on and tightens like a boa constrictor as air pumps into it. The doctor looks at the monitor next to her head and reads off, "Blood pressure at 118/76, heartbeat holding relatively steady at 81. Here, breath into this." He puts a Spirometry mouthpiece against her lips before she can even react. She gags slightly but does her best to breath long and hard into it. She tastes copper at the back of her throat and when the doctor pulls the mouthpiece away there are tiny drops of bubbly red liquid on it. The doctor sighs and wipes it down with a sterile pad before jamming it to back into her mouth. "Breathe again, harder this time." Cosima inflates her lungs then blows as hard as she can. This time the coppery-red taste overwhelms her and she starts to wheeze, then cough. The doctor takes the mouthpiece away. "Wipe your face. We have to try it again." He hands her an antibacterial cloth, which Cosima takes and gasps into it for a moment or two before her breathing returns to normal.
The door to the exam room opens and someone enters. The doctor turns to the person and says, "I'm not quite done here, I still need to take blood samples and do another Spirometry test."
"I'll do it," Delphine says angrily, coming into view and grabbing the mouthpiece out of the doctor's hands. "You're done for the day, Dr. Egosi."
"Dr. Leekie—"
"Agrees with me. He's in the observation room if you want to speak to him directly about it," she says nodding her head towards the two-way mirror on the wall behind the doctor.
"Very well, then," the doctor says, pulling off his blue gloves and throwing them in the biohazard waste bin as he exits the room.
Delphine turns her back to the two-way mirror and peers down at Cosima, her brown eyes soft with concern. She puts her fingertips to the inside of Cosima's right wrist, pretending to take her pulse but really just needing to touch the other woman who looks so small and scared lying on the exam room gurney. "How are you feeling, Cosima?" she asks with a slight tremor in her voice.
"Brilliant," Cosima answers, trying to smile even as she wipes the spittle of blood off her own face. Delphine takes the cloth from Cosima's hand and gently dabs at the other woman's chin. The brunette closes her eyes for a moment then opens them again, taking in the hazy image of Delphine standing over her. She adds, "I'm okay, really, just a little tired of being poked and prodded."
"I know," Delphine says softly. "But we just have a few more tests and then we can send you to Radiology for some x-rays of your chest."
"Oh my favorite: naughty pictures!"
Delphine grins but continues, "And then you can go home for the day. Bien?"
"Yeah, okay." Cosima looks over at the orderly whose clicking pen had fallen silent the moment Dr. Cormier entered the room. He's very obviously checking out the blonde immunologist from behind the curtain of his own wavy tresses. Cosima clears her throat, getting his attention. "Are you finished now, too?"
"Uh…" he's looking at Delphine again then back down at his clipboard. He shuffles through his papers before settling on a page, "Uh, I have some medical history questions I still need to ask."
"Then please proceed." Delphine waves him on as she turns to collect the necessary items she needs to draw Cosima's blood.
He hems distractedly, openly watching Delphine as she bustles around the room. Cosima snaps her fingers at him saying, "Dude!" and he looks back at the patient. Roses bloom on his otherwise pale cheeks. "Oh – uh—right. So question one: is there a history of any known illnesses such as cancer or pulmonary disorders in your family?"
"Seriously? Is your head really that far up your –"
"Just write down 'no'," Delphine interjects from the other side of the room.
"Uh, okay. I'm writing down 'no'. Question two: do you drink alcohol?"
"If you're asking for my drink order, I'll take a Bloody Mary." The orderly brushes back his hair so he can stare at her, his pen resting silent in his hand. Cosima sighs then answers, "Yes, I drink alcohol." Cosima feels Delphine's fingers back on her upper arm, tying on a rubber tourniquet.
"How often?" The orderly asks. Cosima glances up at Delphine and smirks, "Oh, whenever I happen to find a bottle of wine lying around." Delphine rolls her eyes and dabs at the inside of Cosima's elbow with an antiseptic cotton swab.
"Do you smoke?"
"Only weed, man. Maybe three times a week, maybe more depending just how far down the rabbit hole I want to go." The orderly looks up at Cosima then back down at his notes, writing verbatim.
"Question four – er – are you sexually active?" His cheeks are burning before he even finishes the sentence.
"Hmm, well, not right at this moment," answers Cosima who is intently watching Delphine slide a sterile needle, as gently as she possibly can, into Cosima's cephalic vein. Delphine glances into Cosima's eyes and involuntarily licks her bottom lip. Cosima mirrors the gesture; she's never enjoyed having blood drawn so much.
"How long since your last sexual encounter?"
Cosima feels Delphine's hands still against her arm for a moment and realizes that the immunologist is holding her breath. Cosima fights the urge to glance at the two-way mirror on the wall, sensing or perhaps only imagining that Dr. Leekie is waiting intently just on the other side for her answer. Cosima rolls her shoulders and squints up at the ceiling, "Uh, I guess it's been about four months or so. Before I moved to Minneapolis anyway, so, yeah about four months, maybe five." Delphine's fingers start moving again, drawing out the now full syringe.
"Any chance that you are pregnant or have contracted a sexually transmitted disease?" The orderly's eyes are roaming over Delphine once more as she turns to put the blood sample into the collection tray. Cosima considers strangling him again and the monitor beside her shows a definite uptick in her heart rate. Once again she controls her impulse, however, and answers, "Let's see: no, we used protection – both a condom and birth control – and I think I would be showing some pretty obvious signs of pregnancy by now, if I was, not to mention that my menstrual cycle has remained regular. Besides, while I haven't been specifically tested for it yet, I'm pretty sure I'm infertile. As for STDs, well, like I said, condom. But I've also gotten tested since and everything is negative. I'm nothing if not the poster child for safe sex."
The orderly is now scribbling information down as fast as he can, trying to keep up with Cosima's prattling as she continues, "Seriously, I was on the Safe Sex Committee in high school. We advocated safe sex over abstinence – 'cause like that's gonna happen. Anyway, I was like literally on the educational posters we put up around the school: in one I illustrated how to properly put a condom on a penis – of course I was actually using a banana, but you get the idea. In another I was peering out through a dental dam - that one was artistic as well as informative."
At Cosima's side Delphine laughter flutters out of her throat like a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Cosima beams her toothy grin at her. The orderly has stopped writing notes and is looking back and forth between the two women, his mouth gaping open. Finally Delphine waves away her own laughter and turns to the orderly, "Are you all done with your questions?"
"Uh," he looks down at the questionnaire. He's on question five – out of thirty-five. "Yeah, sure. For now."
"Okay, I need to try to get some more Spirometry results now. Could you get Ms. Niehaus a robe and socks from the locker please?"
"Oh, yep, I'm on it."
Delphine meanwhile gingerly removes the EKG leads from Cosima's face, arms, and upper chest. Once Cosima is free of her constraints, Delphine helps her slowly sit up. Delphine gives her a few moments to let any dizziness pass and then has her breathe several times into the Spirometry tube. Cosima is calmer now and doesn't cough. "Okay, good. That's all we need from you here, Cosima." Delphine takes the blue terry cloth robe and non-slip hospital socks from the orderly and helps Cosima put each item on.
The door opens and Dr. Leekie strides into the room, asking, "All done here?"
"For now, yes," Delphine concurs.
"Good, good." He rubs his hands together. "Mr. Roberts," he turns to the orderly, "perhaps you could escort Ms. Niehaus here to Radiology?"
"I would be happy to take her," offers Delphine.
"Actually I'd like a word with you, Dr. Cormier," Aldous says holding up his hands. "So, Mr. Roberts if you could help Ms. Niehaus find her way…"
"Sure, Dr. Leekie." Both Cosima and the orderly look back as the door closes behind them, Cosima to give a reassuring smile to Delphine and Mr. Roberts to ogle Delphine one last time.
Aldous turns to Delphine and smiles lazily, "It looks like you have another admirer."
Delphine makes an unimpressed sound under her breath as she turns away to fiddle with the Spirometry equipment, printing out the results.
"Dr. Egosi is not a fan, however. He wanted to lodge a formal complaint against you for kicking him out of his own exam room. I think I've persuaded him to let it go."
"He may be a brilliant doctor but his bedside manner is horrible," Delphine exhorts, punching buttons to turn off the lab equipment. She jumps when she feels hands slide casually around her hips and feels warm, moist breath on her right ear. Aldous whispers heatedly, "Hmm, yes. You're bedside manner is by far superior. In fact, I've been missing it quite a lot these last couple of weeks."
Delphine squeezes her eyes shut tight, as she tries to keep her breathing even and normal. He must think, however, that the sudden hitch in her breath is desire, because he fully encircles her waist with his arms and nuzzles her neck. "Come to my place later tonight."
"Aldous…"She slides her hands under his arms to release his grip and turns to him, her face set in what she hopes is a convincing smile. "I have a lot of work to do tonight, between analyzing Cosima's blood sample and running the DNA sequence. I'm afraid I'll be working quite late."
Leekie frowns and touches her check with his index finger. "Alright. But soon."
"Oui, of course." He moves to kiss her and she turns her face just at the last moment, reaching for the Spirometry results off the printer. His lips brush across her upper cheek. Delphine waves the paperwork in front of her face with one hand and grabs the blood sample tray with the other. "I'm sorry Aldous, but I really do need to go."
"Hmm, yes." He steps away, giving her just enough room to brush past him and she hurries out of the room. Aldous hums to himself as he watches her go, grinning like the Cheshire Cat who's about to eat a very fat white rabbit. He's not as obtuse as his daughter and wife might argue; he can clearly see Delphine's attentiveness towards him has waned significantly. He's also notices the sideways looks and secretive smiles between Cosima and the immunologist. He might not know for certain how deeply the women's connection is, but he has a pretty good idea. It actually amuses him on some level, even though his jealousy complicates his humor. Well, he has moves of his own to play and if there is one thing that Aldous Leekie loves more than anything in the world, it's playing a competitive game of chess. Idly he flips on and off the EKG machine, just long enough for the machine to fill the room with an echoing, 'Bing!'
"You knew Mrs. Norris?" Art asks, flipping open his small black notebook. He is trying not to stare too openly at the woman who stands before him on the front porch. She looks so much like Beth – so much like Sarah Manning, but there's just something so very unfamiliar about her as well. It's like seeing yourself in a funhouse mirror – you know it's you, yet there's something oddly 'other' about yourself. With Alison, it's in the way she keeps fussing with her hair to make sure her bangs are straight. It's in the way her eyes flit from the detectives to the other houses along the street as if she can't decide which is worse – talking to the police or having her neighbors see that she is talking to the police.
"Yes, we've known each other for seven years, I guess it's been. Ever since my husband Donnie and I bought this house." Her words come out as vapor in the cold afternoon air.
Art studies his notebook then says, "One of our other officers talked with a neighbor of yours, a Mrs. Meera Kumar, the other day. She said that you and Mrs. Norris had a bad falling out a few days before Mrs. Norris died."
"Oh, well, I wouldn't say we had a bad falling out so much as a misunderstanding…"
"She told the officer that you had sex with Mrs. Norris' husband in the parking lot of the fitness center, a few weeks back. Mrs. Kumar and her daughters apparently witnessed the – incident," Angie states. She is most definitely appraising the smaller woman before her. She'd never liked Beth and was finding this Suburbian copy of her to be just as unlikable.
"Yes, well. I fail to see how this is relevant."
"We're just trying to establish the series of events leading up to Mrs. Norris' death. It may help us discover if this was merely an accident or possibly a suicide," says Art.
"What? But, I thought it had already been ruled an accident – a freak, freak accident."
"I'm sure you can understand things from our perspective," Angie explains, "I mean a woman's best friend sleeps with her husband in the woman's own SUV, no less, in broad daylight and in a public place where other people in the neighborhood can see and then, oh yes, the two women have a public brawl in the middle of the street that same night. Woman is betrayed not only by her husband, but by her best friend. Woman files for divorce and decides to move as far away as possible from her supposedly best friend, but the whole time she's thinking – what did I do to cause this? Was it me – did I do something wrong? How long has my best friend been betraying me like this? Has my husband ever really loved me? And then an opportunity presents itself and she stuffs her scarf into the running garbage disposal and then bzzzzzzzz *choke* she's strangled to death and never has to think about her best friend and husband's betrayal ever again. Granted, it's not the normal way a woman chooses to commit suicide, but it's damn right effective."
Alison is staring at the female detective with a look of horror, eyes and mouth wide, a hand to her throat. Even Art is looking at his partner as if she's suddenly gone mad.
"Back on point, Mrs. Hendrix," Art fills in the growing silence, "Did you happen to see anyone going or coming from Ms. Norris' house on the day that she died?"
"No, why would I – was someone else there?"
"We have another a statement from a Mr. Hart down the street, said he thought he saw someone leaving the house in a hurry that day – but he didn't have his spectacles on and couldn't really make out who it was. He did say that whoever it was seemed in a hurry and crossed over to this side of the street."
"Well, I – no – I don't know who that would have been—" The front door opens suddenly behind her and Alison jumps, squealing.
"Alison, what's going on out here?' Donnie asks, sticking his head out the door and taking in the scene before him. Caroline stands behind him, craning her neck over his shoulder.
"Sir, I'm Detective Bell and Detective Deangelis, we're here to ask your wife a few questions."
"Oh, sweet Lord, Alison, what have you done?" Caroline gasps.
"Nothing, Mother. Thank you. They were just asking me about Ansyley."
"Oh that poor, poor woman, she was such a dear friend to Alison. And now her poor kids are going to have to live without their mother. Such a tragedy."
"Donnie, why don't you and Mother go back inside and finish dinner. I'll be right behind you. I think we were almost finished here. Yes?" She turns back to Detective Bell, but she can tell that neither Donnie nor her mother have moved one inch from the doorway.
"Yes, I think we've covered our questions for the time being. But here's my card in case you think of anything, such as who the person might have been that was seen leaving the house."
"Of course."
"Have a good day." The two detectives turn to walk away, but Angie stops and spins back. "Mrs. Hendrix, just one more question."
"Hmm…"
"Do you know a Sarah Manning?
Alison pauses for just a fraction of a moment, but in that moment both Art and Angie see Alison's stoic expression fall as the woman's cheek twitches involuntarily. They look at each other, then back at Alison.
Alison says, "No, I don't know who that is." She turns, hastily grabs the mail out of the mailbox and shoos Donnie and her mother back into the house as she closely follows. The door slams shut behind her.
Several hours later, after waiving off numerous attempts by her mother to find out what all the police had said, and after sitting through yet another tense meal followed by an evening of tense card playing with her parents and Donnie, the house is finally quiet again, with each person tucked into their respective beds. Donnie is lying next to Alison; snoring loudly. His snorts and snuffles are almost loud enough to cover the thumping beat of her heart. Sleep is a distant, far off thing and Alison sighs. Carefully and quietly she slips out of bed and sneaks down the upstairs hallway, past rooms where Gemma and Oscar slumber, past the room where her parent's sleep, their breaths loud and even. Alison tiptoes down the steps, on a mission to grab the rum from the dining room buffet. On her way back out of the dining room, rum in hand, she notices the mail that she had brought in earlier that day piled on the hallway table. She grabs it and heads downstairs to her craft room.
The craft room light blinds her momentarily when she turns it on, then she puts the bottle down before sorting through the mail, organizing it into bills, cards, and junk mail to be shredded later in the morning. As she thumbs through, she spots a brochure illustrated with a wood engraving of Adam and Eve standing naked, except for strategically placed fig leaves, before the Tree of Knowledge. The image looks splotchy, as if it's gotten wet and the ink is running. She throws the pamphlet on the shred pile, but something flutters out and she stoops to pick it up off the floor. It's a small torn piece of red magazine paper that merely says '"sheep" on it; the word has been underlined several times with a black Sharpie.
"What in the world?" Alison whispers.
She picks up the brochure again, staring at the front scene, ink is definitely bleeding through. She unfolds the tri-fold brochure on top of her craft table. Alison gasps. Inside, the pamphlet typed text has been scribbled out with red pen, but glued to the center panel is a black and white image of Alison's face, raggedly cut out of some larger photo. Below her picture is pasted individually cut-out magazine letters reading, "We know what you are" followed by an empty, tacky space where the word "sheep" must have originally been glued. In the margins of the brochure, running across the top and then clockwise along the other sides, in tightly slanted handwriting, is scrawled: "Psalm 139: 13-14a: For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made."
The brochure slips out of Alison's quivering hand as the clock on the wall turns to 3:24 AM.
