"It's been two weeks, Uncle," Maggie sniffs forlornly. "He won't talk to me. He barely talks to anyone. He completely missed Christmas and New Year's. He promised to love me until the day he died. Do you think he's stopped loving me?"
"I don't know," Guillermo answers for what feels to be the hundredth time. "You know I called Vic about a week ago and he's looking into a partner dying and then being revived and whether or not the wedding promise holds past that. I personally don't ever remember reading anything about it, but I didn't read every book in the Library. Of course it wasn't from lack of trying, mind you."
She doesn't even notice his smile as he tries to lighten her mood. She's staring at the empty tank again, silent tears following countless others. He sighs with a sadness only a parent could know, watching a child in pain and unable to do anything about it. It's a feeling he doesn't like having: the feeling of helplessness.
"He's been locked in that room with those old newspaper clippings ever since he was released from the medical tank," she mutters mostly to herself. "What could be so fascinating?"
"Maybe he's doing research to figure out what happened to Lewis," he suggests unhelpfully.
"So finding where Lewis is is more important then being with his wife during Christmas and New Year's?" She demands, snarling at the empty water. "It's more important than being with his wife during her latest doctor's visit? It's more important than seeing his children on the ultra sound?"
"Have you tried talking to him?" he asks to which she immediately snorts.
"More times than I can count," she answers sadly. "I took him the pictures from the ultrasound. He didn't even look at them. I tried to point out the little webbed hands and the gills, but all he did was give some non-committal grunt. He barely eats, barely sleeps. What am I going to do, Uncle?"
"Keep trying," is all he can offer.
She stands outside the door of the office Abe has hidden himself in. She waits there trying to gather up the nerve to go in while also trying to ignore the nauseating smell of the bowl of rotten eggs she's holding. Finally, with one last steadying breath, she walks into the room, easily getting past the lock on the door.
"I'm busy," Abe grunts, not bothering to look up.
She just watches him for several minutes, taking it all in. He's seated at a large table that's covered in old yellow newspapers, photo copies made from microfiche film and aged photographs. But that's not what really has her attention, instead it's his nearly gray color and the fact that his skin is actually starting to crack in places.
"We need to talk, Abe," she states.
She places the bowl down next to him on top of a folder. He quickly moves the bowl, but accidentally knocks the folder and its contents onto the floor. He utters a few expletives as he gets down onto his hands and knees and begins to clean up the mess.
"Abe, please tell me what's going on," she begs, kneeling down next to him.
Something catches his eye during his cleaning up and he stops to examine it more closely. It's an old photo of a rather pretty woman dressed in clothes from the mid 1800s. Next to the photo is what looks to be a wedding certificate.
"Edith Howard," he mumbles to himself. "My wife?"
"Abe, whatever it is your researching can't be so important that…" she starts, worry and fear eating away at her.
"Get out," he interrupts, snapping at her.
"But, Abe…," she pleads.
"Leave me!" he demands, getting louder as he grabs her upper arms.
"You want me to leave you?" she asks, her voice shaking, tears burning at the back of her eyes.
"It is what I said," he growls as he stands, dragging her up with him and then towering over her.
"Abe, please…," she nearly sobs, his fingers cutting into her flesh.
"LEAVE!" he shouts as he drags her from the room. "NOW!"
With that, he slams the door in her face and relocks it. She stares at the closed portal for several moments, unsure of what to do at first. Then it dawns on her that she has her answer, so does the only thing she can. She leaves.