Chapter Thirty

Grey scuffed his foot against the pavement of the courtyard, watching the people mull about with children, looking exhausted from a day of tourism and adventures that he was envious of. The children were either all smiles or sleeping in their parents' arms, the teenagers starry eyed and excited as they pointed and cheered and enjoyed attractions, all the while the sun beginning to dip below the horizon.

Claire had left them – again – in favor of a meeting, promising to have dinner and get them on some rides or exclusive attractions later in the day, which had failed. Instead they'd spent the day in the Samsung building, going through documentaries and entertaining themselves among the other guests, which had been boring. Zach had been angry and closed off to the world, frustrated at Aunt Claire for yelling at them and blaming them for the fiasco that had happened with Owen, the woman named Marianne, and the sick raptor.

Actually, Grey was beginning to think the entire trip was more of a fiasco than a success. Sicne their arrival almost four weeks ago, they'd spend hardly any time with Aunt Claire at all – she was always "busy" or "running late", or "behind schedule" to spend time with them. Their all-access passes had become boring a week into the trip as they'd done everything there was to do at the park – they'd done the attractions and the rides and the sights, and it had all become a blur.

Even amidst his love of dinosaurs, Grey was beginning to admit that it was getting a little boring. Not the dinosaurs – they were fantastic, but the park itself. Everything was always controlled and on schedule – nothing changed, everything was the same every day: the T-Rex got fed three times daily, the exact same time every day, the Mosasaur show ran the same times and length with the same tricks, the petting zoo had the same dinosaurs which did the same things – ate and cowered away from children. It was like a synchronized clock, running perfectly the same everyday doing the same old, same old.

Grey had been hoping this trip would inspire him and take his mind off of home and his parent's situation – but, if he were honest (and he ususally was) it did little in comparison so what his home-life was. He was missing him Mom and his room, his library and the computer he played games on and researched with. He missed waking up to his mom making breakfast before going to work, seeing his dad on weekends and tossing a football around when they could. He also, admittedly, missed the Zach from home – the Zach who had a girlfriend and at least wasn't mean all the time around their parents.

His evening talks with his mother didn't help either – her voice and her curiosity only pegged him on, forced him to realize she was there and he was here, and how much he hated the distance between them. He'd never spent so much time away from home, and Grey would admit that he hated it. He wanted his bed and his room and his mother, all the familiarities of home that kept him comfortable. He wanted to be appreciated and recognized, to have someone to spend time with him – not to be pushed aside as another appointment or meeting got in the way.

Overall, Jurassic World was doing him no favors in helping him forget the worries of home. The only thing holding up was the promise of the new dinosaur Aunt Claire had been working around, which would unveil sometime next month – which he was excited about. Aunt Claire wouldn't give details, but he hoped it would be enough to encourage him about this place and the promises it held.

because it sure didn't have a lot going for it right now.

"Hey," Zach nudged his elbow into Grey's ribs, forcing him to look up from his feet. Squinting against the setting sun, a screaming child across the way caught his attention only briefly before Zach pointed to his left, towards a paleontology class, which was in session. Grey had attended one his second week on the island and had had a good time doing it – but he hadn't been willing to go back, being the youngest boy in the class. He didn't like the way the instructor had always babied him, and he was sure the instructor hadn't like it when he'd corrected him on how to properly pronounce Ankylosaurus. So he'd opted out of the class every time Zach had tried to get him to go back – insisting that it had been boring, while all the while it had been interesting. "Looks like fun, huh?"

Grey shrugged, "I told you I didn't want to go again."

Zach mimicked him and wrinkled his nose, "Yeah, I know." He rolled his eyes and then stopped, leaning against the fencing that was around the digging area, which allowed onlookers to stop and watch the "pupils". Grey stopped, looked up at Zach, and then turned to the class. He looked to Zach again, and found his face had wrinkled and his brow had furrowed.

"What?" Grey asked him.

Zach nodded into the dig site, "She looks a little young to be by herself," He shrugged a shoulder, "Younger than you even." They shared a mutual shrug before Grey turned his attention back to the little girl.

She was in a sundress, with her hair pulled back into a half ponytail, in sandals and the only girl in the class. She was diligently working away from the group, on her knees with a toothbrush and a binder open with a handout – the same handout Grey had received during his class, he was sure. She was reading, finger pointed in the binder, when she turned back to the bone she was examining, a look of determination on her face. She couldn't have been more than six or seven, he doubted. He remembered from his place beside Zach how hard it had been to be himself in the site, digging and looking like an outcast – she looked much the same way, but her face didn't show it.

He responded back to Zach when an idea struck his brain, "Yeah, she does look like she's by herself," he pushed himself off the fence and ran towards the entrance to the site, bypassing a stroller and observing parents. He ducked under the rope, hurried past the instructor which Zach intercepted, and marched straight towards the little girl's observation site.

. . .

Sophie, careful not to smudge dirt onto her sundress carefully and graciously turned the page of her binder with a dusty finger. She was sure she wasn't reading the instructors correctly, but she hadn't rightly cared – all that she cared about was the fact that she had found a talon – fake, of course – and she would be darned if she was going to let a boy get something out of the ground faster than her.

The only girl in her class, she'd instantly been the object of the others' stares and taunting jibes. She hadn't cared, though – this was the first time she'd been able to use her smarts and really use what she'd studied to impress the people around her – and herself.

Well, she was certain she'd not only impressed the entire class, but frustrated the teacher as well. She'd pronounced Ankylosaurus wrong – just, wrong. And Sophie, not being one to let a dinosaur name go mispronounced, had corrected the instructor and had graciously told her the correct pronunciation. The woman had turned red and had quickly dismissed Sophie's statement in favor of starting the next session of the paleontology class. Of course the boys had snickered and had cast her icy glares mean enough to scare spit, but she hadn't cared.

Uncle Owen had taught her to forget what people thought about her and think for yourself. A twinge of something hit her belly – she'd been on the island for four weeks and hadn't seen very much of him. Sadness overcame her as she realized she hadn't spent hardly a few hours with him since she'd arrived – but, she knew he was busy and had decided to make the best of it. He had, after all, made sure she had exclusive access to everything in the park, even if she had to be watched like a baby. Which, she decided, was a sacrifice she could make.

She stopped reading the paragraph and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Excitement played in her belly and replaced all the sadness she had inside of her – she was having dinner with Marianne and her uncle, and she was beyond excited. She'd been right about the two of them! All along!
Sophie had known right from the minute she'd met Marianne that she'd liked her – she was pretty and smart and very nice, and had something in her eyes that Sophie liked. When Sophie was around her she felt like Marianne cared and made her a part of the conversation and didn't overlook her because she was a kid, and that she went out of her way for her. After all, she'd made sure she'd been safe and dry during the rainstorm and had been taken care of, and she'd helped her on the boat – Marianne had been nothing but kind to Sophie, and she liked that.

She also liked that Marianne got all nervous and blushed around her uncle. It was kind of like a fairy tale that had never been told, the two of them – and Sophie loved it. She knew Marianne wasn't considered the prettiest because she was fatter – excuse her, heavier – but she also knew that Marianne probably wasn't considered a lot of things people would usually approve of. Almost, Sophie told herself, Marianne reminded her of Wonder Woman: strong, pretty, and good; just like her Uncle Owen reminded her of Superman: he was funny, handsome, and always watched out for her.

Overall, she'd known instantly that Marianne Randal, the woman from the boat, was meant for her uncle because they both were funny and had the same sparkle in their eye, and had the same heart – Sophie knew so by the way they talked to her and looked at her. And she'd been right – she'd actually been right! They were perfect for each other because her mom had told her that it would take a one-in-a-million woman to settle Uncle Owen down, and that Marianne wasn't ordinary like other women in the world. Something about her was special, made her prettier than girls on TV. Something made her different, and different was exactly what her uncle needed – at least, she was sure of it.

And, she was certain, her matchmaking had everything to do with their being together – but, she wouldn't admit that to them. Grown ups liked to do things by themselves and didn't like it when kids intervened, Sophie knew that. So, she'd let them tell her and play along like Marianne had asked her too – she'd be all the wiser, however, and be proud of herself secretly, like she was about most things in her life.

She looked up from her dig when a puff of dust rose up from the ground. She frowned and braced herself for a snide, mean comment like she'd received from the other students and crossed her arms. She found a boy, older than she was, standing over her with a pack on his side and curly hair. "What do you want?" She asked rudely.

"I saw you were digging by yourself," he said casually. He got down on his knees beside her and put his hands on his legs, gesturing to the binder. "I've taken this class before and was wondering if you needed some help." He smiled at her and she liked his blue eyes, and his gentle voice.

"I don't need help," she wasn't about to need a boy's help, no matter how cute or nice they were. The only boy she needed help from was Uncle Owen, and that was only because he was her uncle and she loved him. "I can dig this up myself."

He nodded, then looked to the booklet, "But you skipped a page," he scratched his arm, his eyes nervously looking away, "you missed the part about how to –" he reached for the binder, Sophie's eyes cemented on him with a hard look of frustration, when a tall man in a grey suit with a pink button down crouched beside them out of nowhere. He had dark skin, and dark hair and smelled like plums.

"Sophie Forester?" He asked her, sunglasses covering his eyes. He had a heavy accent, which startled her. He removed his sunglasses smoothly, revealing dark eyes, and when he smiled, he had white teeth.

Sophie instantly moved away from him, scooting backward through the dirt to be out from between the two. Her eyes darted over to the boy and then the man, her lips turning down in a frown. Her mother had warned her to stay away from strange men that she didn't know. How did he know who she was?

She decided to reply carefully, "Yeah?"

He smiled, "You're the niece of one Owen Grady, is that right?"

She swallowed, "Yeah," obviously this man knew her, and her eyes pulled away from him to look at a lovely woman with red hair staring across the fence at then, hands primly behind her back. She was wearing a light pink dress, heels, with her short hair pulled into a clip like her own hair was. Her lips were painted pink and she had glittery powder on her face, enough for Sophie to notice across the dig sight. She looked beautiful – almost like an older version on Anna from her mom's favorite film Frozen.

She looked back to the man, then to the little boy who was staring just as hard as she was at him. Her heart began to beat harder and she was beginning to sweat, the dirt sticking to her palms and the back of her legs. The man however out of place he was in a fancy suit, was casual.

He chuckled, "Well, my name is Simon. I understand you will be joining your Uncle and I for dinner, is that correct?"

She shrugged, "Well, I uh…I guess so." She loosened up after that – obviously this man knew her uncle, and she did recognize the red haired woman from the Center earlier during the storm. Sophie felt somewhat better knowing she was a familiar face – and this boy seemed nice enough, for a boy. "I'm having dinner with my Uncle and my his girlfriend – but he doesn't know that I know that she's his girlfriend." She felt her face get hot as she was rambling.

The man threw his head back and laughed, his eyes sparkling. He nodded and stood, then extended a hand to her and then looked to the younger boy. "Well, allow me to take you with me to dinner, Miss Sophie Forester. I believe you and your brother will be joining us too, nephew of Claire's." He smiled at the boy, "I have made sure you get to keep whatever you were digging today – it will be saved for you at the resort," he nodded to the instructor as he led them towards the fencing's exit, the class staring at them as they left. He held the gate open for Sophie as she past through it. "I am most excited to meet your uncle, Miss Forester."

"My name is Sophie," she said strongly, crossing her arms. As the red haired woman approached them, the man named Simon's brows shot up and he looked to the lady. Sophie looked at her and narrowed her eyes, an older teenage boy trailing behind her slowly.

"Sophie," the woman said softly. Her voice was gentle, but Marianne could see the woman was anything but. She had a shifty, uneasy look in her eyes, one that warned Sophie that she wasn't a lady that could relate to children on a comfortable level. Sophie instantly didn't like her, but something about this woman made her sad – and, Sophie realized as she stared the woman in the eye, that she had the same, sad look residing in those green eyes that her own Mom had. "My name is Claire. We met yesterday. Do you remember?"

Sophie nodded, "Mhm. You're my uncle's boss."

She smiled softly, "Yeah, I am. You looking forward to dinner?"

Sophie gave her a small smile, feeling a blush rise on her cheeks as the woman gave her a smile. She instantly missed her mom, who gave her the same type of smile at home. "Yes. Are you eating with us?"

The woman looked up at the man,and nodded, sighing. "Yes. Yes I am."

. . .

The door was knocking.

Or, at least, someone was knocking the door.

Alan dried the rest of the water from the ends of his hair and padded out of the bathroom to find Malcolm flipping through TV channels at the end of the bed in the resort, Van Owen lounged eating from a bag of chips, laying out on the bed, chomping as he watched Ian flip.

They'd been given a joined room – Alan and Malcolm had vouched to share, Nick getting the huge other room to himself. They'd joined together, despite their differences, to watch TV and discuss everything that Marianne and the trainer – handler – Owen had run by them earlier that day. Not that Alan could digest any more information at the moment, having all he could do to keep whatever dinner he had picked at down.

The reality of it was that he was terrified in this place – every piece of it held a horrible memory that he couldn't shake from his mind. Everywhere he looked he could see the horror of Hammond's vision, the failure of science and the devastation of greed in the attempt to play God. It shook his core and made his entire nervous system burn with glazing fires of agony as he remembered lives lost here – Muldoon, Gennaro, Nedry, Arnold – all the people who had invested in this park and had been fooled into believing it may work, but not forgetting their consciences.

Alan had a conscience, and he wasn't dead. He knew he shouldn't be here.

But he was here.

"I'll get the door," he mumbled, snagging the shirt he'd abandoned on the bed by Nick's feet. Throwing it on, he wiped the droplets of water from his hands on his pants and moved towards the door, grabbing the knob and twisting it. Pulling it open with sore and exhausted nerves, he was surprised to find a thin woman, with pale skin and dark hair standing in the doorway. Sunglasses on top of her head, stiletto heels, skin-tight pants and a white shirt and sports coat, she looked like she'd walked out of a magazine much less across the courtyard of Jurassic World.

"Dr. Grant?" She had a British accent, which added to his surprise. The other two didn't even bother paying her attention, glued to the HD flatscreen of the room. Alan nodded and scratched the back of his neck, and she extended a hand, "I'm Zara. I'm Miss Dearing's personal assistant."

"Who?"

She waved her hand, shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought, "Never mind. You're presence is requested at dinner tonight with Miss Dearing and Mr. Simon Masrani," she sounded flat and bored, her tone – as if she'd prefer to be anywhere but here. "Immediately at 5:30. I'm to take you in a car."

His brows shot up, "Simon Masrani? As in –"

She nodded. "Yes."

Alan looked over his shoulder at the two, and then waved at Malcolm, who jerked a look to him as if he'd been snatched from another dimension. Alan jerked his head as if to signal them over. Ian flipped off the TV, Nick moved the chips beside him and swung his legs off the side of the bed, and they hurried over. "You guys want to go to dinner?"

They hadn't eaten yet, so Alan assumed they'd be up for it. Malcolm was the first to ask a question, "Uh, yeah. Who's this?"

"I'll explain later," she stepped aside, "We need to go now. Mr. Masrani prefers his guests to be on time for brandy and drinks before dinner." She ushered them out the door, closed it promptly, and rudely forced them down the hallway as if she were saving their lives. Passing them, she outwalked them to the elevators in those ridiculous shoes, Nick taking her in as if she'd graced their presence from heaven. "Your counterparts are being seated as we speak," she pressed the button, "You're very fortunate. Mr. Masrani doesn't fly to the island for anyone." She took them in and then wrinkled her brow. "If you do not mind my asking – who are you, anyway?"

Alan and Ian and Nick shared a look.

"You heard the woman," Ian replied with a smirk, "Who are you, anyway, Grant?"

. . .

Marianne slipped into the seat across from Owen, crossing her feet at the ankles beneath the table after Owen had informed the waiter his niece should be joining them, and asking him to check and see if she'd arrived yet. The man had swiftly seen to the task, and had informed them that Sophie hadn't been seen at the restaurant, but was coming with a park escort at any moment.

The restaurant, a prim and classy establishment lit dimly by chandelier's was warm and smelled of jungle, cinnamon and chai. It was very sparsely occupied, Marianne reasoning that no one on the island could afford to eat here after ridiculous park prices, all the while wondering how on earth Owen had managed to get them reservations. Their table, a square with three seats, was complete with a linen table cloth, candle, roses floating in glass orbs filled with water, and a place setting beautiful enough to capture in a magazine. Marianne even noticed her china was rimmed in gold, and her silverware looked as if it had been shipped in from the mainland just for her – unused and shined to the maximum.

"How did you manage this place?" She leaned across the table, looking around. She felt exposed, as if the entire world were looking at her through a microscope. Never having been anywhere classier than Olive Garden on a date, she felt like a fish out of water. A smile spread across his lips, which led her to grin, "You're washing dishes tonight, aren't you?"

"I just owe the manager a quick tune up on his bike," he waved it off as if it were nothing, "and maybe my left arm and leg, but you know how it goes." This caused them to grin and snicker at one another, Marianne blushing like mad and hoping the candlelight masked it. It hadn't, she could tell, and she covered her face with her hands and put her elbows up on the table delicately. Owen reached across the table to smack her wrist lightly, "Get your hands away from your face," he chided her softly, "I like it when you blush."

She rolled her eyes, "Only because it makes you feel better."

He shrugged and rolled his eyes as if to confirm her statement, nodding slightly and leaning back in his chair, "Yeah, mostly." She snorted and then slapped her hands over her mouth, looking around – there was hardly anyone around to hear them, the two of them being secluded far enough away from everyone else less cause speculation. Her stomach sank – she hadn't meant to intentionally snort.

He laughed at her and winked, "Yeah, you snorted."

She balled up her napkin, tossed it across the table at him and hissed. "Shut up." Her face exploded again with a mad blush and her stomach fluttered with butterflies as he looked at her with a grin and eyes sparkling as if they'd caught fire. The way he was making her feel was unbelievable – she was warm all over and her knees quaked even though she was sitting, and her insides felt as if they were being melted alive.

He pointed at her, waving his hand as if he were trying to pinpoint something, "You know that blushing thing we talked about? Yeah, you're doing it again."

"You're unbelievable," she giggled. She hadn't had this much fun in years. Then, she put her hands against the table and leaned towards him, "You know, I don't remember having so much fun on a date before," she gestured between them, then leaned back into her chair, imitating his actions, "But you know, I guess that happens when you're with someone as awesome as me."

He rolled his eyes, winking at her. "You know, if you're not careful, people are going to think we're spending too much time together if you keep that up."

Heat dashed through her body again and she looked away, to where the bartender was watching them with an approving smile, as if they needed her permission to be together at dinner. Marianne shrugged a shoulder.

"Well, maybe you should –"

"There he is! Uncle Owen!"

The abrupt intrusion came loud and sudden over the air in the calm and collected room. Everyone ceased what they were doing and looked over their shoulders at the little female voice, the little girl in the sundress now running and weaving in between tables towards them. Marianne watched and dropped her chin into her hands, watching the interaction as Owen left his chair and took a knee to receive the girl in the establishment – everyone watching as if it were groundbreaking news. Marianne felt herself blush again, and she felt someone behind her – the waiter, with their drink order.

She looked up over her shoulder to thank the man, but found instead, surprisingly, that it was Alan. Her brows shot up and then dropped into a furrow, whipping her attention back to Owen, who was now shaking hands with an Indian man in a grey and pink suit. Confusion began to swirl around her brain and cloud her senses – but everything became clear when she saw Claire sneak up beside the dark-skinned man. Something pitted in Marianne's stomach like a viper nestling into a dark, dank hole.

"What's going on here?" She asked no one in particular. The Indian man looked from Owen, who was holding Sophie's hand, to her and approached her, hand outstretched. Marianne got up from the table, her face set like a stone in a furrow and frown. Out of courtesy she shook his hand.

"Miss Randal, I presume?" He had an accent that was oddly familiar, and Marianne could've sworn she'd seen his face somewhere. She couldn't place him, though, and gave him a cautious side-look.

"Yes?" she felt the entire group of people – Claire, her nephews, Owen and Sophie, Alan and Nick and Ian all watching her as if she were something on show. Something twisted a sour knot in her chest and she suddenly felt like something was very, very wrong here; like she'd been put into a corner and was being observed like a wild beast that would attack at any moment.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Henry Wu straighten his tie, approach her table – her table, which was reserved for her and her boyfriend, on her first date with Owen Grady. Then, as Wu slipped into their group like the snake he was, giving her a pitted and sharp stare like a viper, Marianne knew. She knew what was going on here.

She was being put into a game that she didn't want to play.

And she was dragging Owen and Alan right into it.