Glass Shatters (20 page)

Before attempting to enter the building, Charles takes the bags out of his pocket one more time. This obsessive checking has become one of many nervous tics. He holds the bags in gloved hands. It’s not cold enough for gloves outside, but Charles is paranoid that the oil from his palms will somehow seep through the bags and spoil the samples. The samples are valuable, more valuable than he would have imagined.

Charles was foolish. He washed their dirty clothes. He wiped down the countertops. He tried to remove the remnants of their humanness from the house, only to realize later that these remnants were the very thing that could lead to having Julie and Jess back. He knows that these samples of DNA may already be damaged, that there are risks involved in attempting to replicate these cells. That the results may be undesirable, to put it lightly. But he also knows that he has to try. Any chance is worth the potential repercussions. In Julie’s bag, he has the scrapings from a travel razor used long ago. In Jess’s bag, a single fingernail clipping from the bottom of her garbage bin.

Charles holds his security badge up to the front door. He has a feeling that it still works, that they wouldn’t have thought to limit his entry to the entire building. For a moment, as he raises his hand to swipe the card, he pictures red lights flashing, alarms going off, alerting everybody to his presence. Instead, the tiny light blinks green, and he pulls open the glass door with no issue whatsoever. He knows better than to imagine he can get into the lab. He knows Peter and he knows that he doesn’t trust anybody, especially people who have previously destroyed tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment. But there may be another option.

Before Peter founded Genutech, there was a larger pharmaceutical company that had labs on the fourth and fifth floors of the building. When that company outgrew the space, they leased the labs on the fifth floor to Peter. Genutech was very small at the time, however, and Peter didn’t want to commit to leasing the fourth floor as well. He knew, though, that the lab equipment and the extra space might eventually come in handy. So he worked out a deal with the pharmaceutical company. For a relatively reasonable monthly fee, the pharmaceutical company would keep some of the lab equipment on the fourth floor in place and retrofit the rest of the rooms as offices. The pharmaceutical company could then rent those offices and avoid the issue of having to move or sell the extra lab equipment. Conversely, Peter had the security of knowing that he had a quick, easy option for expansion should Genutech become a larger company. That was the plan, at least.

After several years, however, the lab equipment on the fourth floor became outdated enough that Peter refused to continue paying the monthly fee. The equipment wasn’t broken or inoperable, but Peter always insisted upon having the most cutting-edge technology. The pharmaceutical company had enough money at this point that they decided to abandon the situation altogether. Nobody else wanted to deal with the extensive remodeling that would have had to take place if the equipment were removed, so in several of the back offices, the equipment simply stayed. Thus, Charles’s plan—even if he can’t get into the labs on the fifth floor, there’s a good chance that some of the equipment on the fourth floor will be accessible. It may not be the best equipment, but certainly an improvement over nothing.

Charles takes the elevator up to the fourth floor. He reaches into one of his other coat pockets and pulls out a headlamp. He straps it on, flips the switch. A thin stream of light speckles off the wall. Better than the overhead lights. The last thing Charles needs is for somebody to get suspicious because they see the lights on in the middle of the night. Charles is methodical, starting at the very back of the hallway and turning the knobs to each of the offices. The first several offices are locked, not surprisingly, but finally one of the knobs at the end of the hallway turns with a long, satisfying click. Charles creeps into the office to discover that it’s empty. Most likely nobody is leasing it right now. There’s a small door in the back wall, only about five and a half feet tall. Charles climbs through the door. It’s more than he could have hoped for.

Although the lab equipment is in need of a good cleaning, the room is fully retrofitted with several computers, advanced microscopes, a variety of slide sizes, a wall with various chemical samples, etc. He takes the plastic bags out of his pocket. If Charles can’t find his wife and daughter, then perhaps he can recreate them. With the discoveries he has made and with the knowledge he now possesses— there’s a possibility that he can create versions of Julie and Jess so real, so impeccable in body and mind that nobody would ever be able to tell the difference.

“Hello? Charles, is that you?” says a voice from behind. Charles freezes. His knees feel like they may give out. Slowly he circles around to face Peter. Peter flips on the overhead lights. Both Charles and Peter turn away from the brightness. Peter has large dark circles under his eyes.

“I, I …”

“It’s okay, Charles,” Peter says.

“I didn’t think anybody would be here.” Charles clutches the plastic bags.

“Well, it just so happens that this room is right underneath my office. You can hear everything. The floors are very permeable.” Peter pauses, then sighs. “I’ve been sleeping here the past several nights. On the couch. I had an argument with my wife. It seems that my scientific expertise contributes nothing to my success in interpersonal relationships.”

“I’m sorry,” Charles stutters. He’s finding that he’s having difficulty with words.

“No matter,” Peter says. “Look, you’re a good scientist, Charles. A great one. And I don’t want to be the one to stand in your way. If you want to come back to the lab, if you think you can—”

“No, I don’t think that would be such a good idea.” The thought of going back to the lab sends a shiver down Charles’s spine. He can’t be around people anymore. Not after what happened.

“Well, you’re welcome to use the equipment in here whenever you’d like. And if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to let me know and I’ll have it brought to this room.”

“Thanks. That’s very generous of you.”

“I’m going to try to get some sleep now. If you need me, you can dial up my office. There’s a phone in the corner over there. Just make sure to turn off the lights when you’re done.”

M
Y BODY DOESN’T FEEL LIKE MY OWN
. I
FEEL LONG LEGS
moving down the hallway. A lead fist reaching up to the door. A brain expanding, swelling. I feel all of these things and yet I don’t. I feel as if I’m watching somebody else as I bang against the frosted glass. When Peter opens the door, no words are exchanged. He lets me into the room in silence. Several drops of blood drip down onto the carpet.

“Charles, your nose is bleeding.”

I reach up and feel the warm wetness against my fingers. Peter hands me a paper towel. I allow his arm to hover and then wilt in midair. He shrugs, crumples up the towel into his palm, then sits down at his desk.

“You should settle down, Charles,” Peter finally says.

“Tell me the truth and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Look, you don’t need to cause a scene. I’m on your side. There’s no reason to be angry.”

“You had somebody spying on me! What am I to you, some sort of case study?” I slam my hand against one of the counters. A glass beaker rattles and rolls off, cracking on the floor.

“Please, be gentle with the equipment.” Peter is grinning, an almost imperceptible grin buried beneath fake concern. The next part feels as if it’s happening in slow motion. I step down on the beaker, smashing it in half, taking the largest shard in my hand. Orange sunlight filters in through the window, viscous and bright, the sunshine sticking to my arms and legs. The glass sparkles in the sunlight like slivers of ice. A loose
sheet of printer paper flutters against the air conditioning vent. My feet are moving in long, open steps, like an astronaut treading over the moon’s terrain. Peter scrambles back against the wall. I don’t feel anything. Nothing at all.

“Charles, you don’t understand. Let me explain,” Peter says.

“How do I know you won’t just lie to me?” I pin Peter against the wall with my left hand. “How do I know you didn’t have something to do with Julie and Jess?”

“Charles,” Peter gurgles. “I would never do something like that.”

“Then why were you observing me? Why did you tell me Katie was a therapist? Why are there cameras in my lab and house?”

“Because you’re a scientific miracle,” he says. “Because you’re alive.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Peter squirms. “Please, if you could just let go of me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I repeat, louder this time.

Peter’s gaze is deep and penetrating. “It means you were an experiment. It means you’re not real.” I tighten my grip. He spits in my face. The slow motion sets in again as I raise my right hand. Only this time, just as I’m about to plunge the shard of glass into Peter’s shoulder, something cold and heavy hits me in the back of the head. The world goes blank.

September 5, 2011

Age Thirty-Three

T
he air is still as a stone. There’s no traffic passing outside. Everybody has gone home. Charles checks that the legs on the tripod are secure, then adjusts the lens of the video camera. He’s rented stage lights for the occasion, small ones that are still very hot. The bulbs sizzle in their chambers. Charles can feel the sizzling on his skin. The collar of his shirt constricts around his neck, a snake squeezing the life out of its prey. He turns away from the lights and takes a deep breath, another, another, calming himself down. Charles is both more nervous and more excited than he has ever been before. He’s about to make history, while at the same time transforming his own life so thoroughly that it can never be the same again.

Charles stands back from the camera. He turns the screen so he can see the image of himself that the camera is taking in. He’s surprised by his image. He looks so put together, even as he’s falling apart inside. He’s still a young man at thirty-three, still boyish in certain ways, still handsome. He wears spectacles pushed too close to his eyes, a blue checkered shirt, khaki slacks, brown wingtips, a starched white lab coat over everything. His eyes are so bright that they look like planets, glimmering with the light from the stars. His blond hair is buzzed short and his face is clean-shaven.

Charles checks behind him to make sure everything is in order. A body lies on an examining table, covered by a thin sheet. Next to the table there’s an IV stand and an EKG. The EKG blips every moment or two. The body’s heartbeat is steady, calm. About two dozen wires run from underneath the sheet to a large computer, going in one side and coming out the other. At the end of each of the wires is an electrode. Images flash across the computer screen at more than twenty per second. Charles takes one more deep breath, closing his eyes. He thinks about Julie and Jess. He sees a picture of them against the backs of his eyelids. They are out in the woods, on one of Julie’s favorite hikes. Jess is no more than three years old, and she’s just discovered the pleasure of worms. Julie is splattered with mud from having helped Jess dig in the wet earth. Jess has so many earthworms in her hand that it’s impossible to count. When Charles opens his eyes, he pushes the picture away. It’s still completely unreal to him, the knowledge that after tonight, if everything goes according to plan, he will never think about Julie and Jess again. He will finally be free from the memories, the loss. A small part of him questions if he wants to be free, but he pushes that thought out of his mind too.