Chapter 5 – Biology
There: Matt
Moe the receptionist greeted Matt when he arrived at Nelson & Page. "Good morning, Mr. Murdock. Are they expecting you?"
"No, just thought I'd drop in."
"Let me tell them you're here."
Before Moe could do so, other-Foggy stepped out of his office. "Hey, Matt. Or should I call you Michael?"
Matt grinned. "Better stick with Michael. I don't want to slip up."
"What's up?"
"I have some news. Can we talk?"
"Sure." Other-Foggy turned to his left and yelled, "Karen! Michael's here."
Sounds of a hurried ending to a phone conversation came out of other-Karen's office. Then the woman herself emerged. "Hey, Matt."
"He's got news for us," other-Foggy told her. "And we need to call him Michael."
"OK. And it's good news, I hope."
"I think so," Matt said as he followed the two lawyers into their small conference room. Other-Foggy closed the door, and they took their usual seats. "I think I've found a way – a way to get to Vanessa, that is. I went with her to see one of the artists from the show. When he asked her when she was gonna divorce Fisk, she said she was happily married. But she was lying. I think she wants out."
"How do you know that?" other-Foggy demanded.
"I heard it – in her, um, her voice."
"You heard it?"
"Yeah, I'm really good at listening."
"If you say so," other-Foggy muttered doubtfully.
Matt ignored him. "I think Russman – the artist – he's our way in."
"How so?" other-Karen asked.
"I'm not sure what it is, but there's a history, between him and Vanessa. It was obvious that Russman despises Fisk, and he doesn't care who knows it. Whatever their relationship is, there's trust between them. If I can gain his trust, we can use that to get close to Vanessa."
"Wow," other-Karen breathed. "That is good news."
"I'll go back to see Russman in a day or two, but we also need to keep working on Vanessa directly. That's where you two come in."
"How?" other-Foggy asked.
"The Foggy Nelson and Karen Page I know . . ." Matt began. Then he stopped talking, confused by what he was picking up from other-Foggy. The man was angry, very angry.
"What did you just call me?" he demanded.
Then Matt remembered, too late, what other-Matt had told him about other-Foggy and nicknames. He must really have struck a nerve. "Sorry, man," he said. "The Franklin I know – that's his nickname."
"Well, it's not mine," other-Foggy snapped.
"Understood," Matt said quietly.
"Franklin, honey, what's wrong?" other-Karen asked soothingly. "It's just a nickname."
"It's nothing," other-Foggy said.
"Then why are you so angry?" she asked. When other-Foggy didn't answer, she answered the question herself. "This isn't nothing." She rubbed his shoulder. "You can tell me."
Piece by piece, she skillfully dragged the whole story out of him. "Foggy" had been his nickname, too, used by everyone in his large extended family. He absolutely hated it. Everyone knew he hated it, but they kept calling him "Foggy" anyway. When he left home to go to college and cut ties with his family, he left the nickname behind. When he was done, other-Karen hugged him. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said.
"That sucks, man," Matt told him.
"Well, just don't call me . . . that, and we'll be OK," other-Foggy told him.
"You got it." Then he remembered: he had told other-Matt about the nickname. Shit. He had to make sure other-Matt didn't mention it or, worse, tease other-Foggy about it. His relationship with all of these people was still fragile. This could ruin everything.
"So, you were saying . . . about Vanessa?" other-Karen asked.
Right. "So I was thinking, you could come to the gallery with me. I could introduce you as friends from law school and say you're there to see what the works actually look like, because that's something that Rand needs to know, and I can't tell him that myself. And, you know, maybe you'll spot something, something about her, that would help, that I've missed."
"Sure, we can do that," other-Karen said.
"One other thing," Matt said, remembering his conversation with Vanessa. "I, uh, kind of fed Vanessa a sob story about law firms not wanting to hire me because of . . . well, you know. You should be prepared in case she mentions it."
"OK, sounds like a plan," other-Foggy agreed. He levered himself to his feet, then lumbered out of the room, in the direction of the men's room. Other-Karen watched him go, then turned back to face Matt.
"Jesus, Karen, I am so sorry," he said.
"No need to apologize. There's no way you could've known," she told him. "Hell, I didn't even know myself – about the nickname, that is."
"You didn't know?"
Other-Karen shook her head. "No," she confirmed. "Franklin never talks about his family. They've been estranged for as long as I've known him."
"Wow. That's . . . sad."
"It is." She got up and poured a glass of water from the carafe on the credenza at the far end of the room. "Water?" she asked. Matt shook his head. She returned to her seat and took a drink. When she put her glass down, she asked, "So, what are the other Nelsons like, the ones you know, I mean?"
"They're the closest thing to family that I have."
"Specifics, please," other-Karen said briskly.
"Well, the first semester I roomed with Foggy, I mean, Franklin, . . ."
"You can call him that. I'll warn you when Franklin's coming back."
"OK. Anyway, I was planning to stay on campus over Thanksgiving, but Foggy nixed that. I was going to the Nelsons' for Thanksgiving, and he wasn't gonna take 'no' for an answer. So I went. Foggy marches in with this weird blind guy, introduces me to everyone, and tells them I'm now an 'honorary Nelson.' No one even batted an eye. They were all like, 'OK, fine, whatever.' And that was that."
"And they supported Franklin, I mean, Foggy, when he wanted to go to college?"
"Totally."
"I wish Franklin's family was like that. I think being estranged from them hurts him more than he'll ever admit. Did you know this office is only a block from the family business, the hardware store?"
Matt shook his head.
"Well, it is," other-Karen continued. "I think coming back to the neighborhood and opening his law office here was Franklin's way of sticking it to them, reminding them of what he's accomplished on his own, without them."
"You've never tried for a reconciliation?" Matt asked.
Other-Karen shook her head. "No. It wouldn't work. They're all too stubborn, Franklin included." She fiddled with her water glass, then went on, "But I'm in contact with one of his cousins. We talk a couple of times a year. Just in case, you know, something happens. His parents are getting up there."
Matt nodded. "That's good."
She took in a sharp breath. "He's coming."
"Hey," Matt said as other-Foggy entered the room.
"We were just talking – "
"About me," other-Foggy interrupted.
"Actually, no," other-Karen lied smoothly. "We were discussing when to go see Vanessa. It's not always about you, babe."
"I'd like to do it as soon as possible, keep up the momentum," Matt said.
"How about tomorrow afternoon?" other-Karen asked. "We both have appearances in the morning, but there's nothing on the calendar after that."
"Sounds good to me," other-Foggy agreed.
"Then that's settled," Matt said. "Now, how about some lunch? Rand Enterprises is paying."
"Free food, the best kind," other-Foggy quipped.
"Franklin!" other-Karen said reproachfully.
"No, it's true," other-Foggy insisted. "Food always tastes better when it's free. Tell her, Michael."
"You're absolutely right," Matt agreed, as the trio walked out of the office.
After lunch with other-Foggy and other-Karen, Matt returned to the Rand Enterprises tower. He found Rand in his lab and brought him up to date on his strategy for getting close to Vanessa. "Sounds like you're on the right track," Rand said, nodding his head. "Is that it?"
"No," Matt replied. Then he asked the question that had been uppermost in his mind since his arrival. "Are you any closer to finding a way to get us – me and the others – home?"
"I'm working on it," Rand assured him.
Matt inclined his head in Rand's direction. The man wasn't lying, but he was hiding something. Was Rand playing him? Had he found a way back? Was that what Rand was hiding? But why hide it? To keep him here to take down Fisk? "You know I can tell when people are lying to me, right?" he asked.
Rand rubbed a hand across his forehead and brushed back his hair. "All right. I thought I'd found it, a couple of days ago. One of the others, a woman, volunteered to try it. She was desperate to get back, said her husband would be frantic."
He wasn't lying. "What happened?" Matt asked, dreading the answer and tasting bile rising in his throat.
"Nothing."
"She's OK?"
"Yes."
"So now what?" Matt asked.
Rand shook his head. "Honestly, I don't know. What we tried, I thought it was our best shot. I'm not sure where we go from here. I'm beginning to think it only works in one direction." He launched into a discussion of polarities and electro-magnetic pulses. Matt didn't understand any more of it than he had the first time.
His heart sank. He didn't have to understand what Rand was saying to know the truth. Rand had no idea how to send them back. Worse, it wasn't only frustration that he heard in Rand's voice. It was resignation. Rand was on the verge of giving up. Matt wasn't going home, not anytime soon. Maybe never. He couldn't allow that to happen. He tuned out Rand's voice and walked to the far end of the lab, where a contraption of some kind occupied the entire wall. He turned back toward Rand and asked, "So you're saying I'm stuck here? Is that it?"
"No!" Rand exclaimed. "There has to be a way. If I can just – " He started to explain again, but Matt silenced him with a wave of his hand. He took a seat next to Rand's work bench. An idea was coming together in his mind. Rand believed he had exhausted the possibilities of physics, but what if there were other possibilities? Rand pulled up a chair and sat across from him. "What?" the scientist asked.
"What if you're looking for an answer in the wrong place?" Matt asked.
"What d'you mean?"
"What if physics isn't the answer?"
"Then what?" Rand asked.
"Biology." Matt let Rand take this in, then went on. "Maybe it's a one-way trip for us – me and the others – because we aren't from here. Maybe you can only go in that direction, to my universe, if you're from this one."
Rand leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. Matt could almost hear his mind working. Finally, he said, "Could be. If we can isolate what's different about you and the others . . . ." His voice trailed off. He tapped his fingers on the table top, apparently weighing the possibilities. Then he nodded. "Yeah, it's worth a shot. I'll need blood samples from you and the others to compare with people from here. If there're any differences, I'll find them."
"OK," Matt said, rolling up his sleeve, "let's do it."
After Matt explained his theory, other-Foggy, other-Karen, and other-Matt readily agreed to provide blood samples. Other-Matt joked that he never wanted a twin, and he would do whatever it took to send Matt back to where he came from. But he turned serious when Matt asked him not to tease other-Foggy about the nickname and explained the reason why.
"That sucks, man," other-Matt said. "Not having your family . . . I can't imagine it."
"Yeah," said Matt, who didn't have to imagine it.
###
The following afternoon, other-Foggy and other-Karen met Matt at Rand's lab. Once the blood draws were completed, they headed out to Galerie Marianna. Vanessa spotted them as soon as they walked in the door. "Hello, Michael," she said in a low voice. Her slightly increased heart rate and temperature betrayed her interest. "I was wondering if you were coming back."
"How could I not?" Matt replied, giving her his best smile.
"And you've brought friends with you." She didn't sound entirely happy about it.
"Franklin Nelson," other-Foggy said, stepping forward and holding out his hand.
"Vanessa Marianna." Vanessa shook his hand, then turned toward other-Karen. "And – ?"
Other-Karen introduced herself. "Karen Page."
"My partner in law and in life," other-Foggy informed the gallery owner, handing her a business card.
Vanessa glanced at the card and dropped it in her pocket. "You're lawyers?"
"Yes," other-Karen replied. "Law school friends of Michael's."
"When I told them about your show," Matt explained, "they wanted to see it. And they can tell me, you know, what the pieces look like. Dr. Rand will want to know that. Most of the people coming to his offices won't be blind."
"I could've described them for you," Vanessa told him, sounding a little petulant.
"I know. But Franklin and Karen wanted to see them. And I'm told Karen has excellent taste – except in men, of course."
"What!" other-Foggy exclaimed.
"They met in first-year Torts class," Matt went on, "and it was love at first sight. I don't really know what that is, but that's what they said."
"Enough with the blind jokes," other-Foggy said sternly. Then he turned to Vanessa and added, "You really, really don't want to let him get started. He has a whole repertoire of them, each one worse than the last."
"Why, Michael," Vanessa told him archly, "it seems there's a whole side of you I haven't seen."
"Neither have I," Matt replied with a grin.
"I rest my case," other-Foggy declared.
Vanessa chuckled lightly. "Please, enjoy the artworks," she said to other-Foggy and other-Karen, waving a hand in the direction of the gallery where they were displayed. Then she turned to Matt. "You can join me in my office for a cup of tea, if you wish."
He nodded. "I'd like that." He followed Vanessa into her office and breathed a silent sigh of relief to find it empty. He wasn't ready to tackle Wesley yet; he needed to get Vanessa on board first. He reminded himself to choose his words carefully; Fisk or his people would be listening.
Vanessa took a seat at her desk. She pressed a button on her phone and told the person who answered to bring tea. Matt found a chair next to the desk and took a seat there.
"So, Michael, blind jokes? Is that how you cope – by deflecting?"
Damn. She was sharp and intuitive. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his blindness. Especially with Vanessa Fisk, of all people. But trust was a two-way street. If he wanted her to trust him, she needed to believe that he trusted her. If he had to talk about his blindness to gain her trust, that's what he would do.
"Basically, yes," he said, "but maybe not in the way you're thinking."
"What do you mean?"
"I've been blind since I was nine years old. That's a fact. It's not going to change. I made my peace with it a long time ago. The jokes, the deflecting, that's for other people, sighted people, the ones who treat me like I'm made of glass."
"Surely not all sighted people are like that," Vanessa said.
"No, they aren't," Matt agreed. "When I first met Franklin, back in law school, he was like, 'Blind. OK. Got it.' Then he moved on to what he was really interested in."
"Which was what?"
Matt smiled. "How I was going to help him attract what he called 'a higher caliber of women.'"
"Having met Ms. Page," Vanessa observed, "I'd say his plan worked."
"I can't take any credit for that," Matt told her. "That was all Franklin. It really was love at first sight. I'm convinced they knew each other in a past life, or something."
There was a knock on the door, and a young woman entered, carrying a tray. "Thank you, Amy. Just put it on the table," Vanessa said, gesturing toward a low coffee table in front of a couch along the far wall. After Amy left, Vanessa rose from her chair and guided Matt to a seat on the couch. She sat down next to him. She poured two cups of tea and placed one in Matt's hand. They sipped tea in silence. Not for the first time since his arrival, Matt wished he was drinking coffee instead of tea. He sighed inwardly. At least it had caffeine. He hoped.
Vanessa finished her tea and placed the cup back in its saucer, then turned toward Matt. "So Franklin and Karen, they're good friends of yours, but they didn't offer you a job with their firm?" she asked.
Matt shook his head. "No. They weren't in a position to offer anyone a job. They started their own firm on a shoestring, right out of law school. They were barely making it for the first couple of years. And by then, I'd found the job with Rand, so . . . ." He shrugged and let his voice trail off. He finished his tea and ran a hand across the table top, pretending to search for the saucer. When he "found" it, he put the cup in the saucer and leaned back. Time for some questions of his own.
Before he could ask them, the door to the office swung open, and a man walked in. His footsteps and the ticking of his watch identified him as James Wesley.
"James!" Vanessa exclaimed. She half-walked, half-ran to him. He took her in his arms and kissed her, no doubt thinking their secret was safe, because Matt couldn't see them. He turned his face away from them and smirked. They didn't know it, but they had just confirmed Rand's information about their affair.
After they broke apart, Wesley pulled up a chair, and Vanessa resumed her seat on the couch. "You remember Michael, don't you?" she asked, gesturing in Matt's direction.
"Of course," Wesley replied. "Good to see you again."
"Same here," Matt said.
"What brings you back to the gallery?" Wesley asked.
Vanessa answered him. "Michael brought two friends to see the tactile art," she explained.
"Vanessa tells me you were especially intrigued by the piece done with screws," Wesley commented.
"Yes, I was," Matt confirmed.
"And you met the artist – old George?"
"I did."
"What did you think?"
Matt considered his answer carefully. "He seems like an . . . interesting fellow."
"Indeed. That, assuredly, is one way of putting it. Vanessa seems to have a soft spot for him."
"James!" Vanessa exclaimed reproachfully.
"Well, you have supported him for years."
"Supported his work, you mean," Vanessa retorted. She turned toward Matt and continued, "His work has never received the recognition it deserves, in my opinion. Before he started losing his sight, he did abstracts, mostly. Visually, they were . . . striking. He had a . . .an instinctive sense of form, color, and texture. And not only on the surface, but what lies below. It was extraordinary. It comes through in his tactile art."
Matt nodded, remembering Russman's portrait of a man. "It does."
"My dear, I'm sure Mr. Murdock has heard enough art-speak for one day," Wesley said. "We don't want to bore him."
Matt took that as his cue and rose from his seat on the couch. "I should be going," he said. "Franklin and Karen are probably waiting for me." He inclined his head toward Vanessa. "Thank you for the tea – and the company."
"My pleasure."
Then he turned toward Wesley. "Good to see you again."
"Likewise, I'm sure."
Matt found other-Foggy and other-Karen in the gallery where the tactile art was on display.
"This is so cool, man," other-Foggy told him. "I never knew there was anything like this."
"Neither did I," Matt replied.
"We even closed our eyes and touched some of the pieces," other-Karen said, "to get an idea, you know."
Of course they did. It was exactly what Karen and Foggy would have done. The reminder made him miss them even more, if that was possible. Matt shook his head slightly in a futile attempt to banish the thought.
Other-Karen noticed. "You miss them, don't you, your Franklin and Karen?
Damn, she was observant. "Yes, I do," he said quietly.
"Don't worry, buddy," other-Foggy said in a near-whisper, "you're gonna get back to them. I don't know how, but you will."
"I hope you're right."
One of the large security guards opened the gallery's main door. They stepped out, into the late-afternoon heat, and hailed a cab to take them to the law office of Nelson & Page.
