Author's note: Sorry for the delay – life intruded on my writing time.
Chapter 4
Several hours later a yellow cab pulled up to the front of a swanky high-rise in the heart of San Francisco. The building was huge, encompassing half a city block, and came complete with a black-and-silver crested entrance canopy and a gaudily-uniformed doorman. Shalimar craned her neck, looking up at the imposing edifice, and felt her nerves tighten another notch. The place positively reeked of money and an upper-class lifestyle that she was sure she would find stifling, if not downright claustrophobic. But there was no turning back now. She paid the driver, collected her bag and purse, and stepped out.
The middle-aged guard at the security desk greeted her with professional courtesy, but he was definitely on the ball, his alert eyes missing nothing. Before she could even announce herself he was producing a clipboard for her to sign in. Shalimar was a little disconcerted when he addressed her by name, but then supposed that she really shouldn't be surprised. Her mother had always had a propensity for organization and detail. Naturally she would alert the guard to her arrival, and there was a fair resemblance between the two. After wishing her a pleasant stay, he buzzed her through the electronic door to the elevators.
The ride to the penthouse floor seemed to take an hour. Shalimar wiped her damp palm on her jeans. Funny – she could face down a trio of knife-wielding thugs without turning a hair, but the prospect of confronting her mother after all this time had her mouth dry and her palms sweating. A whole flock of butterflies took up residence in her stomach. She got out of the elevator and walked down the hall to a door bearing the number 1502.
Maybe she should have stopped to run a brush through her hair, she thought distractedly, or perhaps freshened her makeup in the cab. Maybe she should just turn around and catch the next flight home. Don't be such a coward, she chided herself. There were questions here that she needed the answers for, one way or the other. Taking a deep, here-goes-nothing breath, she pressed the door button.
A musical chime sounded from within the penthouse. Her feral hearing picked up a muted thump, like something had been dropped, and then there were footsteps approaching. Shalimar remembered those footsteps. They paused behind the closed door for several seconds. Shalimar swallowed apprehensively, trying to ease the sudden tightness in her throat and bring some moisture into her arid mouth. Her fingers clamped around the shoulder strap of her purse the way a drowning man would hang onto a life preserver. The butterflies in her stomach grew to the size of blackbirds. Calm down! You can do this!
A chain rasped, and the tumblers of a lock clicked. Shalimar sucked in a quick breath and unconsciously held it. The door swung slowly open. A blond woman dressed in a long-sleeved silk blouse of royal blue and flowing black bolero slacks stood before her.
"Hello, Mother."
"Shalimar!"
The whisper hung in the air for a brace of heartbeats that lasted for a short eternity. Neither woman seemed to know quite how to react to the other. Then with a small sound that could have been a sob, Olivia Fox Sheffield flung her arms around her long-lost daughter and squeezed her tightly. Shalimar responded to this surprising greeting somewhat awkwardly with her free arm, but kept her posture wary and resisting. True, there seemed to be genuine warmth in the embrace, but it was completely possible she could be feeling only what she wanted so desperately to feel. Don't forget the video, she reminded herself. The woman in the message hadn't been nearly this welcoming. There remained the possibility of an ulterior motive. Still, although she was determined not to allow herself to be suckered by the aching nugget of hope sprouting unbidden in her heart, Shalimar unbent enough to at least return the greeting in the correct manner. Reacting to this lack of enthusiasm, or perhaps just dropping the pretense, the older woman quickly released her and stepped back. Several seconds ticked by. Olivia managed a hesitant little half smile.
"It's so good to see you." She gestured toward the open door. "Please, come in."
"Are you sure it's convenient?"
As soon as the words cleared her lips Shalimar wished her tongue wasn't as quick as her reflexes. All during the long plane trip she kept going back to the video message her mother sent like a child picking at a scab, the dredged-up emotions putting her more and more on edge with each repetition. She tried to put it from her mind, but that turned out to be a waste of time. About all she could do was vow that she would not let her mother know how much the word stung, and yet with the first words out of her mouth she had done exactly that. So much for vows, she thought disgustedly.
Olivia winced as the barb struck home.
"I admit that probably wasn't the best choice of words. I just thought that, if you were wavering about staying here, the rationalization might tip the scales for you."
"You mean, give me an excuse?"
"Frankly, yes."
Why did everyone think she needed, or even wanted, an excuse to see her mother again? Shalimar was fuming as she stepped into the foyer. It wasn't like she was doing this for herself, after all, no matter what Jesse or Brennan said. This was all about taking one for the team, pure and simple. As for her answers – well, she had lived without them for seventeen years now. It wasn't as if she really cared what her mother had to say.
Olivia led her daughter into a tastefully furnished living room done in cream, gold and burgundy. Low bowls of fresh flowers graced an antique glass-topped coffee table and a pair of gleaming Ethan Allan end tables, their fragrance warring with the cloying lemon scent of furniture polish which had evidently been applied recently and with a fair amount of industry. Shalimar tried not to choke on the strong – to her - scents as she dropped her bag and purse beside the elegant coffee table. She sank into one of the overstuffed chairs of butter-soft burgundy leather, but kept her back ramrod straight. Her mother had taken a matching chair on the opposite side, her posture mirroring her daughter's. For a long moment silence reigned between them. Finally the older woman spoke.
"Your father was right – you've grown into a beautiful woman."
"You might have seen that for yourself if you had bothered to come to his funeral."
Olivia's spine stiffened perceptibly, her chin lifting.
"Yes, I suppose I would have – if I had known about it. Gene and I were out of the country at the time. When we got back a week later there was a message from Nicholas on our answering machine telling me that you went to see him, about your visit to his office. He sounded so thrilled. Then when I tried calling him back his housekeeper told me what happened."
'Gene' would be Eugene Sheffield, the man her mother married after her divorce from Nicholas Fox. Shalimar remembered her father mentioning the name in passing. He said the man was a successful venture capitalist, and that his ex-wife seemed happy. How happy was she now to be confronted by this blast from her past, the daughter that she all but disowned all those years ago?
Olivia tried once more to break the ice.
"I can't tell you how much I've missed you."
Shalimar made no effort to keep the coolness from her voice.
"Really? It took you long enough to tell me."
"Until recently I had no idea how to contact you," Olivia countered, "We tried to find you; we never stopped searching for you after you ran away. Private investigators, missing child organizations, runaway outreach - we explored every avenue we knew to try to find you."
"Why – so you could lock me up again?"
Olivia jerked sharply as if she had been slapped. Her cheeks reddened fiercely, and some of the fire she bequeathed to her daughter shot to the fore.
"I understand your bitterness, your hostility," she said tightly, "What happened to you was truly horrific, and I've lived with the regret every single day of my life since then. So did your father." Her voice began to tremble, and she looked like she was trying with all of her might to maintain her composure. "But just so you know, you weren't the only one who suffered!"
Seeing her mother pull a linen handkerchief edged in lace from her pocket and use it to daub at the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Shalimar had the grace to be ashamed of herself. One of the things she remembered about her mother was her calm self-possession in a crisis. Thinking about it, she couldn't recall ever seeing her mother in tears. Before her now was the woman in the video, her face pale and drawn and showing her age in fine lines. It had obviously been tough on her, all those years of searching for her daughter, of not knowing if she was alive or dead. It might even have caused her marriage to break up; Nicholas Fox had hinted as much. And now that they were together again, Shalimar never gave Olivia a chance to speak the words she had been longing to hear, to tell her daughter how sorry she was for what happened. Instead, Shalimar started sniping at her as soon as the door opened. And to top it off, her accusations were unjust. She went to her mother and knelt beside her, placing a slender hand on her arm.
"I'm sorry. I guess I'm a little tense."
Her mother gave her a half smile tinged with sadness and patted the hand on her arm.
"Me, too. But we've got a lot to talk about, and if we start apologizing now we'll never get through it." She rose, and Shalimar automatically did likewise. "Why don't I show you to your room so you can freshen up? I'm sure you must be dying for a shower after your flight." Olivia started across the living room. Shalimar picked up her bag and purse and followed her down a side hallway to a spacious bed/sitting room at the end of the hall decorated in shades of blue. Shalimar dropped her things onto the queen-sized bed.
"When you're ready, you'll find me in the kitchen," Olivia said, grasping the knob to pull the door closed behind her, "We're on our own tonight. Gene is in Los Angeles and won't be back until tomorrow."
Shalimar pushed her hair back from her brow and tilted her chin, letting the shower spray rinse the soapy water from the top of her head down her supple back. All things considered, her first meeting with her mother went off fairly well. Prickly, to be sure, but it could have been a lot worse. Her remorse over their separation was genuine, and it was plain to see that guilt had taken its toll over the years. Shalimar was willing to cut her some slack, especially since she had to admit that her own behavior hadn't exactly been what one could call stellar.
She turned off the water, wrung out her hair and stepped out of the shower. Some slack, she admonished herself. Let's not forget that she was the one thrown into that mental institution for so-called treatment to make her 'normal'. Don't forget that the woman never came to see her all those months while she was locked up, and her father only a couple of times. Dr. Ames, the psychologist in charge of her case, was apologetic when he gave her their excuse, which was that they didn't want to interfere with her therapy. She knew from his manner that he didn't buy it, either.
Therapy. Shalimar bristled all over at the thought of it. What a nice, safe, bland word for the drugs and ritual beatings designed to break her spirit and force her into some kind of obedient, squashed-down shell of a child that fit their definition of 'normal'. Whatever it took. Shalimar overheard her father speak those very words to Dr. Ames outside her door the last time he visited. She actually collapsed, the unfathomable horror of his betrayal freezing her heart in her breast and robbing her legs of any strength or feeling. She remained like that for hours, her world shattered into a thousand shards of glass, crumpled in a heap until the pain of cramping muscles forced its way through her shock and disbelief.
Shalimar gave herself a mental shake to dispel the bad memories. That was then, this is now. There was nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past. She shut down the hair dryer, absently finger-fluffing her long mane. She was just reaching for the plug when a tantalizing scent tickled her nostrils. Recognition of the source made her heart warm. Pot roast, she decided, with onions and basil and … She sniffed. Yes, there it was. That hint of ginger. Although she had eaten pot roast many times since then, no one besides her mother ever made it like that. The aroma she was picking up now was one she hadn't smelled since her childhood.
After dressing she followed her nose through the penthouse suite to the large, fully-equipped kitchen. Her mother stood at a curved work island in the center of the room, chopping potatoes into bite-sized pieces on a cutting board. Olivia looked up when her daughter entered and regarded her appraisingly, trying to gauge her mood.
Shalimar wasn't surprised at her caution. After all, every one of her mother's overtures so far had been met with anger and resentment. Cooking this meal, a favorite from her childhood, was another such attempt, and it was plain to see that she was on tenterhooks to see how it would be received. Shalimar slid onto a bar stool on the other side of the island.
"Wow," she said with a fond smile, "I'd forgotten just how wonderful that smelled." She inhaled again deeply, savoring the aroma. Not only was there pot roast, but it looked like there would also be mashed potatoes, no doubt with the special gravy that only her mother could make. Shalimar had tried to duplicate it a few times over the years, but never quite succeeded. Perhaps before this visit was over she could get the recipe.
Seeing the younger woman's softened posture, Olivia expelled the breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and the tense set of her shoulders eased. Setting her knife down on the block, she wiped her hands on the dish towel tucked into the waistband of her full apron and picked up an open bottle of expensive Bordeaux set aside on the butcher block countertop. She started pouring it into the empty one of the two wine glasses beside it until it was half full, considered a moment, and then added another generous dollop. She then passed the glass to her daughter.
"Here – something tells me that we're both going to need this."
Shalimar couldn't help but smile at that.
"You're probably right." She waited for the older woman to retrieve her own. The two glasses clinked.
"Cheers."
Olivia set her glass down and went back to cutting up potatoes. Shalimar watched her in silence. It was in her mind to offer to help with the meal's preparation, but she really couldn't see where her help was needed at the moment. As usual, her organized mother had everything well in hand. Besides, cooking this meal was Olivia's way of trying to build a bridge between them. Shalimar sensed that, and that it was important to her that she be allowed to do this on her own, to make the homecoming perfect. This nonverbal communication, how it was offered and how it was received, was just as important a step in their reconciliation as any words spoken tonight, and both seemed to instinctively understand this. It was a gift of sorts, one that touched Shalimar's heart, and she knew she had to accept it as it was given. Later she would help with the cleanup, in that way accepting the olive branch and at the same time building her own part of the bridge.
Olivia went to a lower cabinet and retrieved a saucepan and lid. She set it down beside the cutting board and spoke into the silence.
"It's awkward, isn't it – being together again for the first time after all these years?"
"Considering the last time we saw each other I was being dragged out the door in a straitjacket?" Shalimar acknowledged the truth of that with an ironic tilt of her head, but there was far less heat in the words than there was before. Maybe some of her bitterness had been washed away in the shower. "Yeah, a bit."
Olivia looked up from the cutting board.
"Is that all you remember?"
Shalimar took a swallow of wine. "Isn't that enough?"
"From your point of view at that age I'm sure it was." Olivia scooped the cut-up potatoes into the pot, then wiped her hands once again on the towel and addressed her daughter forthrightly. "But you're not a child anymore. You're old enough to understand that sometimes there are things beneath the surface."
The feral set her glass down slowly and very carefully on the countertop.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you remember anything of that night before the police came?"
The question took Shalimar completely off guard. She never thought about the way that night started. Her nightmares had always centered on the police coming, of tackling her, of stuffing her into the heavy canvas restraint, of screaming and screaming as they hauled her away. Everything else had been blotted out. But now in response to her mother's pointed question and the sudden eerie presentiment that this was important, she closed her eyes and began to breathe slowly, evenly, pulling her focus inward as she concentrated.
All at once she was ten again, sitting by the window in her night-darkened bedroom, a light breeze riffling the filmy curtains. It was late, well past her bedtime, but she couldn't sleep. The moon was a shining beacon, full and round and ringed with blue. From time to time she paced restlessly back and forth across her room, her fuzzy cat slippers making only the softest sound on the carpet, but she always ended up back at the window, drawn there by something she couldn't identify, only feel. It was as if the darkness itself was calling her, whispering secret things into her awakening ears.
The breeze began to freshen, bringing with it a rich panorama of scents and sounds. She breathed them in deeply. There was something different about tonight, like the first hint of a storm approaching, something compelling and mysterious and almost wild. She let it fill her up, felt it flow through her, gripping her heart and soul with its siren song. Come with me, it seemed to whisper. Come with me and learn my secrets.
Then down below a flicker of movement caught her eye. A cat had been picking its way across the back yard with silent grace. It paused just at the edge of moonlight, its tail twitching, its attention suddenly attracted by something unseen. Then in a flash its demeanor changed from strolling pet to prowling predator. It lengthened out and began to creep forward, stalking whatever prey it discovered. Shalimar was enthralled. Her pulse quickened until she could hear her heart pounding wildly in her breast. She had never felt like this before. Her whole being was caught up in the hunt, as if she had become one with the cat, feeling the building anticipation in each stealthy, velvet tread of its paws on the grass. It crouched low on its haunches, gathering itself for the fatal spring. Shalimar felt her entire body tightening with it. She forgot to breathe.
The cat pounced, and Shalimar felt an almost euphoric joy burst inside her. Suddenly it was all crystal clear in her mind. This was what that strange restlessness was all about. She needed to be out in the night. She was so filled with the epiphany of the moment that she didn't hear the door open; she was too busy raising the screen panel so she could get out and drink in the magic of the night. One pajama-clad leg was flung over the window sill. The light snapped on.
"Shalimar!"
Manicured hands grabbed her and started pulling her back inside. Shalimar reacted on pure instinct. Golden fire flashed in her eyes as her wild side suddenly burst forth. She threw off the meager restraint, whatever it was, with a power and ease that belied her ten-year-old frame. Without a backward glance she slipped over the sill. Landing in the thick grass with the surefooted ease of a lynx, she kicked off her impeding bedroom slippers and sped off into the welcoming arms of darkness and the adventure that awaited her.
That was the first time her feral nature really showed itself, Shalimar reflected, although she didn't fully realize it at the time. All she knew was that she felt like she belonged here, out in the night with the other wild creatures. For the first time in her life she felt alive and free.
An hour later, tired but thoroughly happy, the girl returned home, intending to climb up the rose trellis and sneak back through her bedroom window with no one the wiser. That childlike hope came crashing down almost immediately. As she approached the back of her house her enhanced hearing began picking up the scratchy sounds of two-way radios. She crept to the corner and peeked around. A pair of police cars and even an ambulance were parked in front, their red lights flashing.
Shalimar was filled with a sinking feeling of dread. Great. Her mother must have discovered that she was missing and panicked. She was in for it now. She'd probably be grounded for at least a month for causing all this trouble. For a moment she wondered if she could sneak back in her window and pretend she was in the bathroom or something when her mother found her gone. Nah –they'd never buy it; she had been gone too long. Shalimar signed heavily. At least her dad was out of town; he would have really freaked out. Mom was usually the calmer of the two. Keeping to the shadows, moving with the natural stealth of a prowling wolf, she made her way across the yard unseen and slipped in the back door. Voices could be heard coming from the center of the house, authoritative voices and the sound of people moving about. Reluctantly, the girl stole through the kitchen toward the sounds.
The living room was full of policemen milling around; her mother was sitting in an armchair being tended by a team of paramedics. Gulping hard, Shalimar nervously stepped inside.
"Mom?"
That was when the nightmare began. A half dozen heads swiveled. One of the police officers started easing up to her, step by step, holding out his hand in a fatherly manner and speaking in the low, soothing tones one would use when trying to coax a skittish puppy. Bewildered, the girl stood stock still. She heard his words, but they didn't make any sense. There was no stern rebuke, no demand to know where she had been. And there was something wrong with his approach. Shalimar didn't know what it was, but it was enough to make her wary. Her eyes flashed with cat-like amber, visibly startling everyone in the room. The cop moved closer. She backed up a cautious step, and then another. Another police officer started sidling in from the other side. That was enough for Shalimar. Reacting purely on instinct she turned to run, but a third cop had snuck through the kitchen and was coming up behind her. After that everything became a blur as she leaped over chairs to escape lunging arms of navy blue, upsetting end tables and sending fragile knickknacks crashing as they tried to close in on her. Crying and terrified out of her wits, she fought back frantically with all her untrained strength, until one of them managed to grapple her legs. The next thing she knew they were all on her, pinning her down. She flailed wildly, trying to break free.
"Damn! What is this kid on?"
"She'll stroke out if she keeps this up! Give her a shot!
"We can't risk it! Get the jacket!"
She felt the coarse scrape of canvas against her skin as her arms were thrust roughly into the straitjacket and the ends secured. She lashed out with her feet, trying to kick her way free, but two of them grabbed her ankles while a third quickly wound medical wrap around them. Then large hands seized her; they were dragging her toward the door. And all the while she was screaming and crying hysterically while her mother did nothing…..
Shalimar came back to the present with a jolt. She had always tried to avoid thinking about that night, so it came as a shock to her at how much detail had been locked up in her memory. The panting exclamations of the cops as they fought to subdue her suddenly became clear, and with it came a thunderbolt of understanding.
"You thought I was on drugs," she accused through a suddenly tight throat. The searing hurt of that revelation surprised her with its intensity. How could her own mother have thought such a thing of her?
As bad as that was, though, a part of her was almost relieved. Throughout the years the lost little girl buried deep in her soul had clung desperately to the belief that it had all been some sort of horrible misunderstanding, that her parents hadn't rejected her because of her mutantcy. Thinking she was on drugs would explain a lot. It would also mean that they might have loved her after all.
That fantasy was shattered in the next instant when Olivia shook her head.
"The police thought that, but I knew you weren't."
Shalimar felt as if a dagger had just been plunged straight into her heart. So she had been right all along. And to think she had been starting to believe the fantasy that her past could be laid to rest. Deep inside her the child wailed in abject despair at the brutal shattering of that last naïve hope. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to swamp them.
"Why, Mom?" She wanted to say more, but her throat was suddenly so constricted she couldn't get the words out. Why did you and Dad blame me for something that wasn't my fault? Why couldn't you love me for who I was?
"Why did I call the police?" Olivia stared into the anguished eyes of her daughter incredulously, "Shalimar, you threw me aside like a rag doll and then jumped out a second story window! You might have been hurt, or you could have been running away. What did you think I would do?"
It was so blindingly simple.
Shalimar was struck speechless. All this time she had been fixated on the scene through the eyes of a ten year old child, her soul in torment over her mother's betrayal, and never once had it even entered her head to try to look at it through the lens of adult common sense. Her mutantcy aside, her mother acted as any other parent might with any normal child. That she never saw that filled her with a deep sense of shame and remorse.
Something thin and soft was stuffed into her curled fingers. Shalimar looked down to see that she was clutching a fresh pair of tissues. She swiped at her eyes and managed a tremulous smile.
Olivia watched the emotions flow across her daughter's face with a dawning sense of enlightenment. They had never had a chance to talk about that night, so she could never explain to her daughter why she did what she did. For weeks and months afterwards she spent her nights prowling restlessly, unable to sleep, agonizing over what happened and ripping her heart to shreds over what she could have done differently, and how lost and abandoned the girl must have felt. Her only comfort was the hope that with time and maturity Shalimar might have come to realize why she acted as she had. Evidently she hadn't.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the impression that explanation never occurred to you," she said. The strong flush of pink suffusing her daughter's cheeks was her answer. Hurt blazed through her at the realization that for all these years her own child could have thought her to be so monstrous. She could only imagine what Shalimar thought her motives were. Olivia downed a large swallow of wine, the burn in her throat as nothing to the acid splashing her heart. "That's probably because you haven't had a child of your own yet. When you do, you might understand how I felt when I saw you slide out that window."
To cover herself and the tears she felt starting once more in her own eyes, Olivia went to the sink and filled the saucepan with enough water to cover the potatoes. She then put the lid on and set the pan on the stove to boil. By the time she turned around again they had both regained some of their composure.
"I'm sorry," Shalimar managed in a guilt-stricken voice. She couldn't think of anything else to say. The size of the injustice she had done her mother was so enormous that it couldn't be put into words. How could she have missed something so obvious?
Olivia had to know. "What have you been thinking all this time?"
Shalimar looked up and answered honestly.
"That it was because of my mutation." She winced at the swift intake of breath and the pain that flashed across her mother's face. "Well, Dad never could accept it," she added defensively.
Olivia untied her apron and draped it on the counter.
"That was beside the point. You were still our child. We loved you."
She picked up her wine glass and strode out, not in a huff, but much more measured. Her body language was such that Shalimar understood the action was more because there were no further meal preparations to be made at the time than in offense to her words, wounding as they were. She took her own glass and slid off her stool to follow the other woman into the more comfortable living room. This interpretation seemed to be affirmed when this time Olivia settled herself not in a solitary chair with the coffee table as a physical barrier between them, but on the overstuffed sofa. Shalimar accepted the unspoken invitation and sat down at the other end facing her, curling one foot beneath her.
For the next couple of minutes they looked pretty much everywhere except at each other. Shalimar noticed that the flowers had vanished from the coffee table, and that the scent of lemon furniture polish wasn't nearly as potent as it was before; evidently her mother had belatedly remembered how well-developed her daughter's sense of smell was and had taken steps to dampen the pungent assault on her nose, a consideration the feral appreciated. Olivia herself seemed to be intensely interested in the structure of her wine glass. Both seemed to be waiting for the other to break the silence. Shalimar suppressed a sigh. What the hell — they couldn't sit here like this all night just drinking wine and avoiding each other's eyes. Someone would have to go first. She supposed it was her turn.
"You could have let me alone, you know," she said finally, "That night. I wasn't in any danger, and I wasn't running away. I just needed to be out in the night."
Olivia looked up from her deep contemplation of the Bordeaux with raised eyebrows.
"How was I supposed to know that? And even if I did, why in the world would you expect me to condone it – a ten year old girl running through the neighborhood in her pajamas in the middle of the night?"
"You knew I was different."
"Yes, but we didn't know at the time how different," the other returned, "How could we, how could anyone know? Who could have predicted that the treatment that saved your life would cause your genes to mutate the way they did? Certainly not the scientists at Genomex."
Olivia set her glass down on the table and faced her daughter earnestly.
"But we weren't scientists. We were just parents, with a child going through changes that were unheard of in the history of medical science. How could we have had any conception of what was happening to you, or the ramifications involved?" She shook her head. "All we could do was watch you struggle with things we couldn't comprehend, much less know how to deal with."
Some of the earlier tension crept back into Shalimar's posture as she remembered that time; all the battles, the anger, the shouting, and her own frustration and fear and loneliness. She set down her glass as well., and her gaze bored into the deep brown eyes so exactly like her own.
"You were watching it," she said, "But I was living it. You can't imagine what it was like, being so different from everyone else, and getting more so every day. You have no concept what it means to have to hide who you are while everything inside you is screaming to break free. You don't know what it means to be a freak."
Olivia swiftly and reflexively caught her daughter's hand and squeezed it sympathetically.
"Is that how you see yourself? As a freak?"
"Not anymore. I came to terms with my powers and my feral nature a long time ago." Thinking of what she went through until she was able to understand and accept her mutation, Shalimar felt her temper start to rise again. Maybe there were reasons for some of the things her parents did, but there was no excuse for throwing her into that hellhole of an institution and essentially tossing away the key. She slipped her hand free. "And you know what? I have friends who love and accept me for who I am. It's a shame that my own family couldn't do the same."
"We did the best we knew how at the time."
"Your 'best' included having me thrown into a psych ward!"
Olivia gestured helplessly. "We had to do something. Even at ten your strength surpassed that of a full grown man, and you weren't in control of it. You were so fast, too; you would lash out so suddenly. I took to wearing long sleeves even in summer to hide the bruises. Your father was even accused once of beating me."
Logic again – the basic common sense reaction of two people who knew they were out of their depth with a daughter who was wild in ways they couldn't even fathom. The wind once more taken out of her sails, Shalimar's rekindled outrage faded. She had to admit she had been a difficult child to raise, more than most others because of the changes going on in her mind and body that confused and terrified her. Sometimes that would include acting out physically, requiring one or the other of her parents to try to restrain her. What she didn't realize was the toll she was taking. Looking back, she remembered her mother wearing slacks and long sleeves when others were wearing shorts and sleeveless tops, and once in a while noticed that her makeup was heavier than usual, but just chalked it up as one of those weird parent things that kids had been shaking their heads over since the dawn of time. The real reason for the out-of-sync fashion statement never entered her head. Mortification made her cheeks redden once again. She hung her head.
"I'm sorry," she said miserably. God, that was so inadequate. "I had no idea I was hurting you."
"I know you didn't, Kitten," Olivia replied gently, and Shalimar looked up in surprise and gratification at the use of the childhood endearment. "You just didn't know your own strength. That was why we had to act. We were afraid that it was only a matter of time before you accidentally injured one of your classmates." Her expression begged for understanding. "Honey, we just couldn't take that chance."
Shalimar leaned against the back of the sofa, her thoughts in a whirl. A psychic weight the size of a mountain that she never even realized she was carrying fell from her shoulders. Her parents hadn't rejected her for her mutation after all. They had been trying to do what they thought was right for their daughter in the only way they knew. You were right, Jesse, she thought, silently blessing her brother-in-spirit for his calm reason and insight. There was more going on than I knew – a lot more. Yet even as her heart felt so much lighter than she would have thought possible just yesterday, still the warm glow she felt toward her mother now was tinged with sadness, not just for herself but for all of them, for all those wasted years and the suffering that didn't have to be.
"I wish we could have had this conversation years ago," she said ruefully. How different her life would have been! And yet, if she had been able to take that other path, she would have missed out on just as much – Adam and Emma, Jesse and Brennan, and a lifestyle that challenged and fulfilled her, and allowed her to be who she was. She would not be the woman she was today, confident, powerful, and comfortable in her own skin. Life is a trade-off, her father used to say in his somewhat gruff fashion, and although she never really understood what he was talking about at the time, she couldn't help but think now that truer words were never spoken.
"So do I," her mother sighed, "God knows we wanted to. Every time we came to visit we hoped you had calmed down enough to allow us to see you, to talk to you. But you were so angry, so bitter, claiming that we betrayed you. You even tore up my letters unread. I suppose I can't really blame you, thinking the way I now know you did, but I can't help wishing you hadn't refused to see us. It would have saved us all so much heartache."
Shalimar knew her mouth had fallen open, but she was too astonished to think of doing anything about it. She stared at Olivia as if she had suddenly grown another head
"Who told you that?" she demanded when she could find her tongue again, "Dr. Ames?"
Olivia regarded her with bewilderment, puzzled at Shalimar's sudden agitation. She got the feeling she was missing something.
"Let me see – Dr. Ames was the one in charge of your treatment, wasn't he? A young, auburn-haired man with a moustache, as I recall."
"That's him. Did he tell you I didn't want to see you?"
"Yes, and the consultant they brought in from Genomex concurred. Dr. Kane was already gone by that time. This was a tall, thin man. I think his name was….Harris? No – Harrison. Dr. Kenneth Harrison."
Shalimar stiffened as if she had been struck by lightning. Then shock gave way to towering rage, making her eyes flash with molten fire.
"Those filthy, lying bastards!"
Now it all made sense. Harrison worked for Mason Eckhart, which in turn meant that the psychiatric institution her parents put her in was a secret subsidiary of Genomex. They undoubtedly recognized right away what they were dealing with, and so proceeded to lie to everyone, telling her that her parents didn't want to see her because she wasn't 'normal', while telling her parents that Shalimar didn't want to see them. They wanted to isolate her from her family so they could mold her into what they wanted her to be – a powerful, obedient weapon they could use to do their bidding, most likely to hunt down and capture other mutants. It might have worked, too, if they hadn't underestimated how fast her powers were growing. In the end she thwarted them by fighting back and escaping that hellhole. Feeling betrayed by the parents she thought couldn't love her for who she was, she sought refuge on the streets, living by her wits as best she could, until the day Adam Kane found her and brought her home to Sanctuary.
"Shalimar?"
Her mother was watching her uncertainly, even warily, as if she expected her volatile daughter to explode at any moment. Shalimar discovered that every muscle in her body was wire-taut, her fingers digging into the sofa cushion so fiercely that her knuckles were stark white. Right then and there she made herself a promise. As soon as she got back to Sanctuary she would institute a search for Dr. Ames, and when she found him she was going to take great pleasure in ripping his living heart out and stuffing it down his deceitful throat. As for Harrison…..!
"Shalimar, what's wrong?"
"Seventeen years, that's what's wrong!"
Olivia just stared at her, uncomprehending. Shalimar took several deep breaths, trying to dampen down the volcano erupting in her soul. With an effort she forced fingers curled into talons to release their death grip on the leather cushion. She fastened her gaze on the woman who bore her.
"They lied," she said in a low, tight voice, "I never refused to see you. In fact, I would have given my right arm to see you."
Olivia's mouth formed an 'O' of shock and disbelief.
"But why?"
Where to begin? Shalimar supposed she could tell her mother the whole story about Genomex, Dr. Breedlove, and Mason Eckhart; about Adam and Mutant X, about fighting for their lives and the lives of other mutants against the GSA, and now about The Dominion. Yeah, right! She'd think you flipped out!
"They knew I was a mutant," she said finally, opting for a shorter and much more sanitized explanation, "They wanted to separate me from you so that they could use me for their own ends."
"Is that why you ran away?"
Shalimar was all set to ask her what else she could have expected under the circumstances, but stopped as another startling thought slammed into her brain. The truth burst on her in a sudden dazzling revelation.
"You didn't know, did you?"
Olivia frowned.
"Know what?"
"About their so-called treatment."
"What about it?" Olivia's confusion was too real to be artificial. "It was a holistic approach, they said, experimental and very hands-on, but they were seeing excellent results in the first trials. It was expensive, but your father told them to do whatever it took to help you. You were too high-strung to respond well at first, so they asked permission to start you on some mild tranquilizers."
So that's what her father was talking about. Shalimar closed her eyes. She should have known better than to think they sanctioned the institution's torture. Olivia seized her shoulders in a forceful grip.
"What happened, Shalimar?" she demanded, "What went on that we didn't know about?"
It was strange, Shalimar thought distantly. She had played this scene in her mind so many times over the years, of confronting her parents and flinging her accusations at them about all the drugs they pumped into her to no avail, and about the repeated beatings she suffered until she finally turned the tables on her attackers and escaped. How hollow that all was now. She had no wish to inflict any more guilt or pain on her mother, so she just shrugged.
"It doesn't matter any more," she said dismissingly, but Olivia would not let it go.
"Shalimar…"
It was amusing after all this time to hear that stern, parental tone drawing out the syllables of her name, the one that was used to her chagrin whenever she got busted committing some infraction. It was usually followed by something to the effect of And just what have you been up to, young lady? said over crossed arms and repeated implacably until she got answers. Shalimar almost smiled because it reminded her of simpler times, when the worst she had to worry about was explaining the hole in the knee of her new jeans, or why she was outside playing when her homework wasn't done yet.
But that was another era, and Shalimar had no intention now of telling her mother what really happened. For one thing, there wasn't anything Olivia could do about it at this point, and for another, Shalimar was reserving any kind of payback against Ames and Harrison for herself. Instead, in part to distract her mother from the subject she knew the older woman would keep coming back to, she asked another question that had been plaguing her during the flight to San Francisco.
"Mom - what happened between you and Dad?"
Olivia fierceness faded. "I guess the same thing that happens to other people," she said after a moment, looking down at her hands. The nonchalance she tried to project failed miserably. "It was just a couple of years after you ran away. We were already drifting apart by that time. Your father was spending more and more time at the office, trying to build the business. I think he immersed himself in his company as a way to deal with the other pressures."
Shalimar had to know.
"Did it have anything to do with me?"
Olivia sighed, her shoulders slumping dispiritedly, "I suppose you might have been the final straw, in an indirect way. Not for anything you did or your mutation per se, just that you were gone. It broke open stress fractures that were there already. Maybe they were always there, I don't know. What I do know is that you were the glue that held us together, perhaps because, first when you were born and then when you got sick, all of our energy was directed toward you, on getting you through that first crisis. When the treatment worked and you were alive, we were so happy. Those were the good years."
It occurred to Shalimar that her mother had earlier mentioned a treatment that saved her life, but she missed it in light of what else was going on.
"What was wrong with me?" she asked. She knew that a great many of the children who eventually became mutants were originally brought to Genomex to deal with serious health issues. Evidently she was one of those. What caused her parents to take her to Adam in the first place? She realized she didn't know; had never even wondered. The only thing she did know was that her medical records at Sanctuary only went back to when Adam first found her, at around the age of thirteen. She marveled now that she never thought to ask him what the animal DNA he crossed with her own was intended to cure.
Olivia hesitated and looked away. Her features seemed to close, becoming bleak and strained. "Yes, I suppose it's time you knew everything."
She picked up her glass of wine and took a fortifying swallow. She stared into the shimmering liquid for a long time, gathering her thoughts. When she finally began speaking the words came haltingly, as if they had to be dredged up one at a time from where they had been buried in the depths of her heart.
"When you were just a few months old you were diagnosed with an auto-immune disease that has popped up from time to time on my side of the family. It's … almost always fatal. We had just about given up hope when we heard about the gene therapies that were being developed at Genomex. We took you there as a last resort, to Dr. Kane, and he cured you."
"A cure with unexpected consequences." Shalimar knew that part of the story. Olivia nodded.
"I didn't care about that part," she said. She held the wine glass cupped in both hands, her head bowed. "All I cared about was that you were alive and well. Even after your genes began to mutate, all that mattered to me was that you were alive and well." She managed a wan little smile. "A healthy and active and happy little girl."
"But if he knew Adam cured me, why did Dad hate him so much?" It was a question Shalimar never could understand. "Would he have preferred me dead over being a mutant?"
"Of course not!" Olivia's head shot up fiercely, "Despite what you may think, your father was a good man. Your mutation was just so far outside anything he ever experienced. He simply couldn't relate. The only way he could cope was to blame someone else. Dr. Kane got picked because, to his credit, Nicholas refused to blame me, even though it was all my fault."
Shalimar gave her hand a comforting squeeze.
"Just because the disease came from your side of the family? That's not something you had any control over."
"That, and because I was the one who insisted on taking you to Genomex. Your father was resistant to the idea because gene therapy was so new and controversial, but in the end he agreed. You see, he knew I couldn't bear to go through it again."
A sudden premonition gripped Shalimar, making every nerve suddenly feel electrified. She went very still.
"What do you mean, 'again'?" she whispered.
Silent tears spilled from Olivia's eyes, leaving wet trails down her cheeks, and her face was a mask of pure pain.
"That same disease took your brother."