CHAPTER 7
The sun filtered through the windows illuminating the women curled together on the bed, Jeanine spooning Tris. In the morning the world felt still before the hustle of the everyday began. Both women's breathing was slow and rhythmic, almost matching one another. Jeanine opened her eyes, letting her eyes adjust to the light, seeing how the light streaked through her windows illuminating the dust particles floating in the air. She inhaled deeply, smelling the sweet scent of soap of Tris' hair. What am I doing? Jeanine closed her eyes, the realization of last night crashing into her. She rolled away from the younger woman and sat up on the bed, looking at her naked self in the mirror. She was going to have so much to explain to her peers, about the tests, about what happened and why she allowed it to continue. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, she was being foolish, weak. She sighed.
"Good morning." Tris greeted Jeanine sleepily, rolling over and stretching. Jeanine looked at the younger woman, her hair adorably misshapen, wild from sleep and their escapades of the night before. Tris sat up and wrapped her arms around Jeanine, kissing her softly on the neck and looking at her through the mirror.
Jeanine went stiff, her eyes glazed over. She stood, not saying anything to Tris and walked down the hallway towards the bathroom, shutting the door, sitting on the toilette.
"I'm sorry." Tris said through the door, softly. Tris waited for a moment, hoping she would answer the door. Instead she heard the shower turn on. Tris walked down the hallway and knocked on the front door, signalling the guards to escort her down to her cell.
Jeanine stepped into the shower, the water cascading over her. She closed her eyes and the memory of the night before came flooding in. She sighed, placing a hand on the shower wall, and leaning her head against the tile. She had always been fascinated by religions of the past, and the transformative powers water had on an individual. She would read the Bible like it was a fantasy novel, fascinated by the symbolism and the mythology. Was she washing away her sins, her transgressions from the night before? Could the water symbolically cleanse her mind to allow a rebirth of some sort? Washing of self was often seen as a sacrament in Christianity, or washing the dead was a way to return the body back to its purest state, to clean it of its mortal body to enter into the afterlife, as in Judaism and Islam. But I am not dying.
Her stomach ached, and she felt the tears begin to well up in her eyes. She sobbed openly in the shower, as she had done many times in the past, to the point it seemed almost ritualistic. Could tears be considered a rebirth? A cleansing? Could they flow freely from her eyes and create rivers to flood, and resoil the lands of farmers? Could her tears be the lifeblood of a civilization, of the world, of her soul?
She didn't know what a soul was, or what religions were referring to. Was it a consciousness tied to morality, or a separation from the body that allowed those to enter into the spiritual realm, whatever that was? It seemed silly to her that people would believe in souls, in heaven, in the afterlife. It didn't seem silly that people believed in the ritualistic aspects of water, however. Without water a civilization crumbles, and humans loved rituals and symbolism, it gave a deeper meaning to their lives. A purpose. Something to look forward to.
Her hands ran shakily through her hair. Jeanine hadn't let someone in her bed for years, her ability to keep a professional distance was one of her best traits that she was proud of. It gave her the reputation of being an ice queen, untouchable. It reinforced that she was in charge. She was in control. Yet, here she was losing it.
She exited the shower and dried off, walking to her closet and putting on her clothes. Today, she would choose a tight blue ¾ sleeve dress, and her heels. She applied her makeup, and let her hair down, it drying in natural waves around her face.
She walked out of her apartment, her guards close behind waiting for her. Peter looked up at her, a slight blush on his face.
"What is it Peter?" She asked sternly.
"You." He swallowed, "you look good today m'am."
Jeanine smirked.
Jeanine entered the laboratory, always aware of how everyone's eyes would glance up to notice, but today they lingered longer. She frowned. She put on her lab coat and walked over to the stations asking for their daily progress reports.
"We've also noticed some other abnormalities in her brain." Dr. Marlow responded. She looked at the man in front of her, they both were in the same initiation class, he was determined to make it to the top, but she smiled knowing that this was as high as he was going to go. He had greying hair and thick rimmed glasses on. His outfits were always slightly disheveled, but it had an endearing quality to it. His mind was wonderful, she knew he was always thinking, the older he got, the more he lived in his mind and his work, forgoing the societal world as much as he could. She wondered how he interacted with his wife. Was he a delicate lover? A passionate lover? Or was he too, in moments of passion, lost to his work, thinking through problems.
Jeanine moved closer to him, invading his personal space, looking at the data on his screen. She looked at it, noticing nothing at first until finally. She grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it.
He stiffened at her touch, then relaxed a little. She looked at him, smiling. "Dr. Marlow, I am very impressed with your findings. How did you think to look there?"
"Funny enough, it came to me while I was eating breakfast this morning." He stated chuckling.
"We find inspiration in the most unusual times and places, don't we?" Jeanine laughed along. "Write up your report and we can find a way to halt these receptors from firing. Perhaps something akin to a beta blocker?" She tapped her fingers on the counter, humming in satisfaction.
There was a commotion in the lab, a feeling of urgency only the biggest problems could generate. She smiled. This kind of energy excited her, made her feel as if she was on her tip toes, like she was looking over the edge and could fall off at any moment. She inhaled, she felt alive.
She walked with vigor to the next station, a deepened sway in her walk, walking straight to the lead on simulation, Dr. Alison Bellus. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail that she curled at the ends. She was unlike many of the women in the unit, she wore makeup, perfume and carried a smile. She was a beautiful young woman who would most likely replace Jeanine one day.
"Dr. Mathews." The woman greeted Jeanine with a sense of enthusiasm.
"I take it we've discovered something, Dr. Bellus?" Jeanine asked, leaning in to the woman's personal space and taking the graph from her hands. Jeanine looked at the table in front of her, examining the columns and rows of numbers and information. Jeanine's eyes widened when she glanced over the abnormality, it was staring her in the face right in perfect ones and zeroes.
Dr. Bellus giggled and Jeanine looked up at her smiling, "I knew you would notice the sequence." Bellus' smile was wide and eager, excited to continue to explain what it meant, "At first I thought it was a computational error, there shouldn't be that obvious of a sequence in the matrix, so I ran the tests again and it showed up again, and again and again." Her voice was getting more excited and she leaned over clicking the screen that Jeanine was holding, and pulling up another graph. "You see, I ran this tests 25 times and got the same sequence."
"That is unusual." Jeanine mumbled.
"Unusual for our brains, perhaps." Bellus continued, "But for divergence, probably not. However, I am hesitant about these findings." Her excitement dropped slightly and a frown formed on her lips.
Jeanine looked up at her puzzled.
"We know little about divergence and what we know has been predominantly on only a handful of subjects. Our sample size is incredibly low, and I haven't seen similar sequences or patterns amongst the other subjects. If there is no uniformity between the brains, how will we be able to create a serum that is a one stop solution? That is able to control all divergence, when, it is that, divergent from any norm?"
"That is the million dollar question isn't Dr. Bellus?" Jeanine replied, looking at the graph at hand. "This is a stepping stone, however, if we can prevent these synapses from firing, then perhaps we have a chance at controlling some of the divergent. We're still at trial phases, error is expected."
"I sent my team to synthesize a serum to act almost as beta blockers. Similar to the ways that antidepressant and mood stimulants work."
Jeanine turned and smiled at Dr. Bellus, putting a hand on her forearm. She enjoyed when her team was in line with her thinking. She noticed how the brunette blushed, down casting her eyes, and then looked up at Jeanine through thick lashes. "Good work Dr. Bellus. Keep it up. With a continual dedication like yours we will soon solve this problem." Jeanine squeezed gently and walked away.
Dr. Bellus finally took a breath.
Jeanine wasn't absentminded to the ways individuals who worked under her perceived her. She knew that at times a touch, a breach into personal space, was just as effective on some of her colleagues as was the need to reprimand. The line between attraction and fear was one that was easily crossed with these pent up scientists. Jeanine walked to her office that overlooked the laboratory. She stood at the window for a moment and observed, she loved how the team worked organically with one another. The ebb and flow of the scientists below seemed natural, swarm like, with purpose and graphical beauty.
Jeanine turned from the window and sat at her desk turning on her computer. She had to update her observation logs, but what do I write? Could Jeanine be honest about last night's session, the ways in which she found herself leaving her body and entering the realm of ecstasy? Could she say that the tests went normal and she found endearing divergent behavior? If anyone was ever to look at her logs, and it was only a matter of time, she would be sent to review. She would be compromised. Jeanine knew that she was already compromised, Tris had awakened a warmth inside her that was invading her body. She sighed.
Today Tris would be undergoing another round of simulations tests, these ones similar to before. Jeanine knew they wouldn't work, but she also knew they would have to try every new serum. One of them had to be successful. Tris' life depended on it and in a way, so did Jeanine's.
Jeanine opened the document log. Her fingers resting just above the keys, she was unsure exactly what to type. She heard the clock ticking behind her. One of the few analogue luxuries she kept around, it was given to her by her father. People would comment about its antiquity or historians would get a sense of excitement when their eyes laid on it. She looked around her office noticing how the light shone through the windows illuminating the dust particles wisping through the air, collecting with others on her bookshelf. She scanned the shelves noticing which ones were out of alphabetical order, she stood and began to rearrange, Descartes was placed in politics, when in her heart he knew he belonged to philosophy. Arendt in sociology when she knew she belonged in politics and Kant? He was left somewhere in between politics, philosophy and aesthetics, her mind arguing with itself for his rightful placement. Perhaps he too was somewhere in between, a divergent of categorization? Jeanine laughed at her own joke, taking a moment to look at the books in front of her, each one well read, each one passed down from her father to her. Her hands ran along the spines feeling the craftsmanship of the binding. They don't make them like they did before, she mused, her hands landing on one of her journals. She pulled it out and read a passage inside.
She found the pages about her abortion, about her grief. She felt the same old memories flooding in, keeping her trapped in a time that had passed. Her hands trembled as she felt the same fear she felt then, the fear of rejection, of loneliness, her mother's indifference and her father's inability to help her emotionally. It was an Erudite trait. She inhaled slowly, letting the tears well up in her eyes. She would always love him. She would always be grateful for the happiness he had given her, sometimes she still dreamed of what their wedding day would have been like. She placed the journal back, banishing it to the shelves. She hoped to never read it again, but she couldn't bring herself to burn it. It was the last physical reminder she had of him, of her youth, of her transition to the person she was today.
She spun on her heels, reminding herself who she was. Jeanine Mathews, Erudite leader, developer of simulations. Cold. Dominating.
As she sat back to her desk her old voice crept in finishing her affirmation-Alone. Her fingers touched the keys again and she found herself unable, for a moment to type again. She stared at the screen, hoping for the courage to come. Her hands trembled. She closed her eyes, refusing to look at the screen and began typing.
Last night, Beatrice Prior, was delivered to my room earlier than expected. Perhaps, I should forgo these extra tests, I believe I have been compromised and my ability to objectively study the subject may be impossible. The sexual defiance was not like before, but instead this time, she was dominant. And I allowed her to be. It seems her preferences are not singular, but she can play the role of both dominant and submissive. It was different than before, while power play was in practice at first, it morphed into something else. Something more sensual, more tender. Loving, where my sexual needs were considered before her own. It is possible that this can be another type of power play, to make me vulnerable in order to gain information from me. This I am consciously and acutely aware of. Or, it could be that Beatrice Prior is developing an emotional attachment, a symptom of stockholm-like syndrome. But what is the syndrome when the captor begins to have emotional attachments to the subject?
Jeanine looked at the sentence she just wrote. Blinking slowly to make sure she wrote what she thought she did. But what is the syndrome when the captor begins to have an emotional attachment to the subject?
Was this true? And what would her colleagues think of her, stone cold Ms. Mathews falling for a lab rat? She could hear the rumors starting now, the ploys to step her down from the head of the faction.
She deleted the last sentence. Hoping that no one had read her report as it was automatically updated to the cloud. The revised version only moments behind.
She stood from her desk then, looking over the laboratory, scanning to see if anyone was on their respective computers looking for any updates on Jeanine's observations. She scanned quickly from one station to the next, her heart racing, hoping that she caught her mistake before anyone realized. She saw a group of scientists huddled over a computer, laughing. Could it be about me? She placed a hand on the glass and tried to peer closer, knowing that she wasn't going to see anything. When the group dispersed, she saw what was on their screen, just a typical video, meant for short laughs and moments of levity. She sighed, feeling the tension release from her neck.
A knock at her door. Jeanine's head snapped and she saw Dr. Bellus on the other hand, holding her tablet and smiling. Always so damn bubbly.
"Enter." Jeanine commanded, still looking out the window. Bellus entered cautiously, walking over to Jeanine.
"Ms. Mathews, I have some questions about your logs?" Dr. Bellus said, smiling, pulling up the information on her tablet.
Jeanine's heart sank, she wasn't fast enough.
"Yes?" Jeanine asked, turning around to sit at her desk, licking her lips nervously.
"I saw that you deleted some information, but I didn't get to read it all the way."
Jeanine let out a sigh of relief. "I realized it wasn't factual, that I found myself lost in the rhythm of typing."
Bellus smiled and nodded, her curled ponytail bobbing behind her. "I can imagine you must be exhausted with the extra observation you're doing also at night."
"I have had better work schedules." Jeanine smiled looking at the women in front of her, her youth radiating and lighting up the room. It was endearing.
Bellus bit her lip out of hesitation before continuing. "Doctor, I was hoping that perhaps…" she trailed off, tapping her fingers against the arm rest.
Jeanine cocked an eyebrow in response.
"I was wondering Ms. Mathews, if that I could observe one of these extra observation methods? To gain a visual insight into the subject." Her face was flushed red. She knew what the observations were, she just needed to witness them herself.
Bellus intrigued Jeanine, here in front of her, was a woman who performed herself as being innocent and dedicated to her work. Yet, she had this side to her. Fascinating.
"You are aware about what those tests entail, do you not?" Jeanine asked, intrigued, she leaned onto her desk, eyes glinting.
Looking down at her hands, Bellus nodded, finally raising her head, "If I am ever going to advance as a researcher, I have to be comfortable in areas I may find unorthodox."
Jeanine smiled.
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A/N: Thank you for being patient everyone. I am working on the next chapters as we speak, but before publishing I like to make sure my amazing beta proofreads everything. Are you liking how this story is developing? I'm always interested in getting insight into Jeanine's character since we don't get to know her very well in the books. Much Love! Please Review and share!
