Chapter Twenty-three
Claire was beyond furious as she stomped out of the vet clinic towards her car, her nose packed and shirt stained with blood droplets, as were her hands. She'd already left a voicemail on Masrani's cell phone about a lawsuit, but she hadn't gotten in her car before the phone rang again – this time it was the maintenance department, informing her that their backup systems were fine and the initial system should be up and running now that the storm had subsided.
As she drove towards the Samsung building, she voiced-to-texted an email, addressing the park's staff to tell them to resume their regular duties and that the park was no longer on standby. She also phoned the transport team to gather a unit to get the raptor back to its paddock before guests woke. Livid, and with a throbbing nose, she marched up the steps, slid her card, and stalked into the building towards the flight of stairs. Her footfalls echoed off the walls and she stopped when her phone buzzed, receiving a text from her sister. She growled, responded, and then dialled the boys.
Today was not going to be a good day – she'd make sure of it.
. . .
Marianne staggered through the front door of her bungalow, having thought better of dropping the documents at her place. She'd left them in the truck, now en-route to the kitchen. Whipping open the fridge, she grabbed two bottles of water and an apple, then kicked it closed and snatched a granola bar off the island counter-top before hustling to her room to shed Owen's clothes. She changed into a fresh pair of jeans, a white tank-top, her vest and a pair of hiking boots. Adding the final touches – her KA-BAR and her gun- she grabbed a messenger bag from her closet and stalked towards the desk.
She packed her laptop inside and tossed in the rest of her valuables from her purse – keys, phone, and wallet before she ultimately grabbed a backpack from the top shelf of her closet and tossed in a handful of clothes. Her hands were trembling as she hustled into the bathroom to grab her toothbrush, brush and some hair products. Grabbing Owen's sweatshirt from the floor, she dropped her stuff at the door, then hurried to the linen closet where she'd hidden her bow-case. Marianne scanned the bungalow as she went, reasoning the rest of her things were replaceable if they were to be confiscated.
She left, flicking out the lights and loading her stuff, tearing away from the building and back towards the resort, where she knew Owen would be waiting. She blasted the air conditioning in the truck, as the day was already muggy and heavy and it wasn't evening morning yet. She was about to roll the windows down when her phone ran. Rummaging a hand through her purse and giving even more gas to the truck, she lurched forward and managed to answer the call quickly. Without even looking at it, she answered, "Yeah?"
"It's me," Owen's voice came through the line clearly and it warned her skin. She smiled to herself in the rear-view, and laced her fingers over the wheel of the truck. She sped on, took a corner a bit fast and felt her tires slip, but she didn't slow. "Miss me yet?"
"Get to the point," she snickered at him, trying to suppress the giggle rising in her throat. She felt like a school-girl at Christmastime, and she couldn't help it. She remembered their kiss and her stomach flared, causing heat to rise up her neck and blossom on her nose. Her stomach flopped over. "How's Delta?"
"Still out – but Claire's ordered a transfer, so we're going back to the paddock. Peter gave her some pretty tough meds, so he thinks she'll be out the rest of the day." Marianne frowned at this – she'd been looking forward to Delta waking up out of the anaesthesia, and upon hearing he'd redrugged her, her heart sank. She'd have to visit later.
"So what's your plan?"
He sighed, and she heard a car door slam, then the rev of her Camaro as he purposefully gave it gas. "I'm taking Peter and the transport team back to the paddock – Barry's waiting there with Briggs and Silas, then I'm thinking of going home and getting some sleep before Sophie gets up at the resort." He revved the engine again and she giggled at him, "This is way too fun to drive, you know."
"I know," she retorted, "So I'll meet you at the paddock and get her charting and stuff from Peter, right? We don't want it laying around, because you know Vic is gunna hear about this, and so is Wu."
"Right. Do that, then I want you to get some sleep."
She sighed, "I guess." Was all she said. She wanted nothing more than to stay with Delta and the other girls and help them reacclimate, but she knew Owen would never go for that. She slowed the truck and reversed, getting ready for a turn-around.
She thought about Claire's statement – about her being fired, and her stomach pitched. Now without a job and she was sure she'd be without a place, she really had no other choice but to think about going to the mainland – if Claire wasn't going to force her off the island. She wasn't going to leave by her own free will, since she wasn't about to let Owen face Vic and Wu by himself, and she certainly didn't want to think about losing Owen already this soon into their relationship. Her throat pitched and her head began to throb from lack of sleep, forming behind her eyes. Then there was Alan, who she hated herself for hurting, and whom she was dying to talk to. She knew they needed to come to an understanding so he could give her some insight into their situation. She sighed and closed her eyes, exhaling.
Life had just gotten so complicated.
She dared the next statement. "You realize we're gunna have to talk about some stuff, right?"
"Let's not do that right now." He sounded defensive.
Her heart dropped into her ribs. "Owen,"
"I said not right now, Marianne. Let me get my head wrapped around Delta and this biopsy deal before we even tackle the entire relationship thing. I'm…not ready to go there yet –"
"I haven't said anything yet," she interjected. She gripped the wheel tighter, her heart rate picking up a few paces. She didn't want to make him angry, and it sounded like he was borderline. She rubbed the windshield to remove some of the fog and then sped up a little, eyes focused on the road, the other hand pressing the phone into her ear harder.
"I already know what you're gunna say."
Her brow dropped, "Oh? And what's that?" She challenged.
He got serious, "Don't even start with me. I know you're gunna want to talk about the entire living situation – and we're not. You're staying with me and that's it. If Claire has a problem she can fire us both."
"What?" Her tone rose a few decibels and she slapped the steering wheel, shaking her head furiously. No way was she about to let him spout off these wild statements that held no water and no weight. He was crazy to think she'd let him lose his job and abandon his girls, "Do you hear yourself? You're not losing your job with the raptor's because of me – no way. You've gained way too much ground to even think about –"
"We'll do this later," he interjected, stopping her mid-sentence. His tone had returned to its smooth, calm pace, and it soothed her concerns for the moment. She swallowed thickly and clicked on the wipers, eyes scanning out the windshield, Marianne half expecting him to appear before her eyes even though she knew he wouldn't. As if he could sense her concern or see it on her face, he continued, "I'll see you in a couple of minutes, okay?"
"Yeah. Later."
"Hey, Marianne?"
She sighed and checked her speedometer, "Yeah?" The needle blurred behind her eyes as they filled with tears – she hadn't recalled a time she'd cried so much in one day, but she chalked it up to being exhausted, emotionally spent, and overwhelmed. She sniffled, fought back tears, and cleared her throat.
"Everything's gunna be okay. I promise."
She nodded, "Okay." Her whisper sounded pathetic and exhausted, but she no longer cared. His strong resolve and heroic attitude would cover it up, she expected, so she'd allow herself this one moment of fear and uncertainty. Her throat constricted and hoped to God he didn't think she was a coward, but she couldn't help but let out a breathy sob. She swiped at her eye, "God, I'm not usually like this, I'm sorry."
He laughed at her, "Like you even need to apologize," this made her smile and sniffle, "Hey, would you mind staying wtih Sophie today and making sure she's having some fun while I get this all figured out – since you don't work for me anymore." His tone was light and teasing, and she bunched up her fist and slammed it along the wheel, pretending it was his shoulder. Her aggravation he must've sensed because he laughed at her.
'Shut up," she demanded lightly, "But yeah, I'll hang out with Sophie once I get things straightened out with Alan. No one ever said your girlfriend couldn't help you keep up on paperwork," She interjected coyly. This made him chuckle.
"I was waiting for the comeback."
"I know you were."
He snorted, "I'm gunna go. See you in a bit."
"Yep."
He ended the call and she stuffed her phone into her pocket. It took another ten minutes to make it back to the paddock, where she found Briggs and Silas in the observation area with Echo, Charlie and Blue, doing skin checks while Barry was documenting. No one else was on site, and relief blasted her like wave.
Marianne slammed the brakes on the truck, it skidding in the mud and tossing up specks of it onto the paint job. She grabbed the keys, stuffed them into her pocket, and hustled towards the observation area. Flinging herself onto the cage, she laced her fingers through the gate and hurried towards the entrance, Barry looking over his shoulder as Briggs and Silas fought to keep Charlie calm, the raptors suddenly frightened by her abrupt entrance.
"Barry!" She exclaimed, slipping in the mud. Stumbling forward, she caught herself and hurried towards him, Barry giving her a look as if she had crawled out of a hole. She looked to Silas and Briggs and beckoned them to come.
They joined her, Briggs wiping muddy hands on his equally filthy pants, "What's the matter?" His thick Australian accent raked over her nerves, but she shooed it from her mind and she took the chart from Barry, signing her name to it. She flipped the page to an exam sheet, and she brought out her cell phone.
Browsing through her contacts, she found Ian Malcolm and Ellie Sattler, friends of Alan she'd met through travelling and seminars. She'd met Malcolm only briefly, but Alan had found him trustworthy, despite his annoying personality and his unorganized existence within mathematics and "chaos theory". On the occasion she'd met him, he had reassured her that a friend of Alan's was a friend of his, and that if she needed anything, she could call him.
Ellie, on the other hand, she knew well enough to reply upon herself. She'd spent time working with Ellie when she'd come to work for Alan right out of college – they'd shared tent and became girlfriends, despite their age differences. Ellie was the sister she'd never had, and they'd kept contact throughout the years by emails and occasional letters – by no means best friends, but friends nonetheless. She'd helped Marianne learn her way around a dig site, and she'd helped her get acquainted with Alan's rough personality and demanding expectations.
She scrawled their numbers on the exam sheet and ripped the page out of the clipboard – these people she knew and trusted, and they were people with significant pull in this business. She could trust them to back her up against Vic, against Claire, and against Wu. Marianne knew she could send copies of the files to each of them and know they'd keep them safe, and that's what she was going to have Barry do. She pointed the pen at the three numbers.
Barry watched her carefully, "These phone numbers are people that I trust explicitly," she swallowed, looking between Briggs, Silas, and Barry, "I want you to make copies of all the records we have and get them to these three people –"
"Wait, what?" Silas interjected, "Why –"
She shook her hand in front of him, and shook her head from side to side, "I don't have time to explain it now, and I need you to trust me on this one," The rumbling of an engine coming to the paddock ended her sentiment, and she saw it was Owen and her Camaro, followed by a transport truck an SUV which belonged to Peter Bartlett. She pressed the clipboard to Barry's chest, handed him the pen, and hurried out of the paddock.
As she was about to swing herself out the door, the raptors screeched and stopped her, making her look over her shoulder at them. Her pulse picked up and heat spread throughout her body as they watched her carefully, mouths parted and eyes eerily watching her, as if they knew what she was up to. She looked at them a few moments, the animals unmoving, Marianne herself unwilling to back down. A car door slammed suddenly and jerked the attention of the three raptors. Satisfied that they were finished staring her down, she hurried towards Owen, who jogged towards her.
"We're gunna put her in a containment room for now," he referred to the rooms they used for quarantines, for when the animals got sick or carried parasites communicable to the rest of the pack. She nodded and followed him, and only once they were inside did he ask her, "You got the papers and stuff done ok?"
She shook her head, "No, I didn't leave them at my place," he was about to protest as they pushed open the heavy garage door. She caught him with a look that told him not to jump to conclusions and that she wasn't stupid, "if Claire comes and wants me out of there, I don't want her to see the documents and the files," he nodded his understanding, grabbing her wrist and pulling her into the empty, dark room. He fumbled along the walls for the lights and found them, "And besides – I'm gunna have Barry make copies and send them over to Alan."
He stopped, "What? Marianne, you can't –"
She grabbed his other arm to calm him down, "Trust me, ok?" She looked over her shoulder, where one of the transfer tech's was standing, waiting for them. Owen nodded and began readying the room for Delta's arrival, and Marianne hustled out with the tech towards the van, where Peter and a group of men and women were carefully lowering Delta onto a transfer.
. . .
Ring. Ring. Ring. Rin -
Nick Van Owen rolled over roughly and slammed a fist on top the alarm clock, only to realize it wasn't the clock keeping him awake – his clock didn't ring, and it didn't illuminate the night either. He fumbled along the nightstand until he felt the cell phone, still on the charger, and he answered the call lazily after the first few swipes at the green button. Sitting up on his elbow, he checked over his shoulder half expecting his wife to be there – but realized she wasn't, as she hadn't been every night when he'd checked after their divorce.
Answering the call, he croaked, "Van Owen," he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He glanced at the clock and found that it was almost six in the morning, and he couldn't believe someone was calling him – or that he hadn't checked the ID. What could someone want at this hour?
"Nick," the voice sounded oddly familiar, "it's Ian Malcolm. We haven't talked in awhile."
His eyes popped open at that one – sure enough, the voice matched with the name brought back a fog of memories. He remembered Ian Malcolm – had worked with him and his girlfriend Sarah Harding on a few occasions. He still knew Sarah and worked closely with her, sure – but Malcolm? He hadn't talked to him in, well, years. "Dr. Malcolm. I guess you can say it's been awhile."
"It has. But I was calling on behalf of a favour you owe me and Sarah."
He rubbed his eyes and yawned, standing. Stretching an arm above his head, he replied lazily, "At six AM?"
Ian chuckled, "Yeah, I know it's early and late notice, but I was wondering something."
Nick let out another yawn, "Yeah, sure?"
"Do you still have that Cesna you used to fly?"