Tarnished (20 page)

“And then what? What will happen to all those pets?”

“I don’t know,” Penn said.

I looked up at him. “Do you think they’ll be set free?”

“I hope so.”

I snuggled back down into the crook of his arm and pulled down a thin afghan that had been folded across the back of the couch, spreading it over us. This was what I was fighting for, wasn’t it? Moments just like this one. It was so simple, the drape of an arm, the curve of a spine, the sweet press of skin against skin.

I wasn’t asking for much.

Chapter Twenty

A
t 5:59 Penn and Missy and I finally switched on the TV. The house had been quiet for most of the day, maybe because we’d still been moving in a bit of a daze, or maybe because we were afraid to make too much noise for fear that someone next door would hear us. Now, as Penn flipped to channel three, we all cringed at the overly animated sound of a car commercial.

Penn thumbed the volume button on the remote until the sound was almost all the way down. We all leaned forward a little in our seats.

“Did she say what time it would be on?” Missy asked.

“I don’t know,” Penn said. “She said it was a top story, but that’s all I know.”

The car commercial ended and the TV went black for just a moment before the Eyewitness News logo appeared on the screen. The music swelled and the deep voice of the announcer cut in. “Live from studio three in Hartford, this is Eyewitness News at six.”

The image changed. Two news anchors sat perched behind a shiny desk, their faces set in almost identical looks of thoughtful focus. It looked like an expression they each must have practiced in front of the mirror every morning until it became second nature. The woman didn’t look like Ms. Westly. Her individual features were different—dark hair, fuller lips, rounder eyes—but the overall package felt oddly similar. There was a stiff, almost plastic quality to them, as if someone had found a way to clone these newswomen so that no matter who was talking, the viewer always felt as if the person speaking to them was familiar.

Behind them, the news logo swirled on a giant television screen, finally coming to a stop as the music faded out.

“Good evening,” the newsman said. “I’m Grant Peterson.”

“And I’m Kimberly Brenan. Tonight, fire officials say early clues point to arson in the blaze that ravaged part of the City and County building Thursday.”

“Two high school students are facing homicide charges in connection with a fatal crash in Stamford.”

“Plus, a Newark girl is in critical condition after—”

“Why haven’t they gotten to it?” Missy said impatiently, shaking her head. “She said it was a top story. If they wait until—”

“Shh,” Penn and I both hushed.

On the television, Kimberly Brenan finished talking and tapped the stack of papers in front of her. “But first, we go live to Diane Westly with an Eyewitness News exclusive report. Diane?”

“Thank you, Kimberly.” The screen flashed to a shot of Ms. Westly standing in front of Greenwich Kennel’s main entrance. “Reporting live from the NuPet breeding facility in Greenwich, I’m Diane Westly with breaking coverage on a scandal that could rock new legislation allowing the breeding of genetically modified human pets.”

The camera panned out just a bit showing Ms. Westly holding a stack of official-looking documents. It was dark, but a bright light from the camera illuminated the backdrop of the wrought iron gate, now securely locked.

I could hardly believe that only two nights earlier we’d found Penn’s car hidden there, not even a dozen feet from where she stood.

“They were bred to be a new form of companion,” Ms. Westly said as the image on the screen changed from the dark surroundings of the NuPet compound to the immaculate waiting room of the training center. Sitting on the tufted divans were half a dozen pets dressed in gowns. The images switched to the girls performing their different talents. Ms. Westly kept talking, pointing out how difficult it had been to pass the legislation, which allowed these pets to be sold.

“NuPet finally gained ground with the bill after convincing the public that the girls bred in these facilities weren’t fully human. This new definition of personhood hinged on the idea that any individual grown entirely in the lab could never be considered human.”

I cringed. Personhood? How was it even possible that a person’s worth could be defined and legislated by someone else? Men like the congressman got to sit in big important rooms arguing with one another about who was human and who wasn’t. As if their words were the things that made it true.

The camera switched again to Ms. Westly. “But our sources have uncovered official documents proving that NuPet executives not only hired poor and underprivileged women to give birth to pets, but knowingly and purposefully murdered healthy babies they deemed inferior. Earlier today, I had a chance to sit down and speak with one of the women formerly used as a surrogate mother to these pets. This is what she had to say.”

Once again the image on the screen changed. This time a woman sat across from Ms. Westly in what I guessed must have been the woman’s living room. Even though the woman’s body and surroundings were clear, her face had been blurred out.

“You were hired by NuPet to be a surrogate in their breeding program, can you tell us when this was and what you experienced?”

“I was nineteen,” the woman said. Her voice sounded funny, distorted and low.

“They changed her voice,” Penn said, seeing the confusion on my face.

The woman went on. “They recruited me from the homeless shelter. They said they’d get me off the street, get me money.”

“And did they?” Ms. Westly asked.

“Yeah, but things weren’t better there. I spent ten months locked in their building. They stuck me in a bed growing a baby for them. And then when it was born they killed it.”

“And how do you know they killed it?”

“’Cause I saw it,” the woman said. A bit of her dark, curly hair escaped the blurred out blob on the screen. “It was a healthy baby. It cried right away. But they kept calling it ‘sub-par.’ They did all these measurements. Said her eyes were too small and her head wasn’t symmetrical enough. They didn’t even try to hide any of it from me. And they were angry at me. They didn’t even let me hold her. I could have kept her if they weren’t going to. I would have,” she said, her voice cracking. “But they didn’t even let her live for ten minutes. I saw the needle. They tried to hide it from me, but I saw. I saw her limp body when they put her on that cart and wheeled her away.”

“But you never came forward before now?” Ms. Westly asked.

The woman snorted. “You think anyone would believe me? I’d just sound crazy. Plus, I didn’t have no proof or nothing. We signed stuff that said we wouldn’t tell, but they didn’t give us papers.”

“And are you worried now, to come forward publically this way?”

The woman’s fingers fluttered in her lap. “I mean, I guess I’m scared, but it’s time, you know. People got to know.”

“And what is it that you want people to know?” Ms. Westly asked.

“You can’t just kill little babies like they’re rats or something,” she said. “People got a right to know what’s going on in there. Somebody is making lots of money using women’s bodies to make the ‘perfect’ baby, blaming them when they don’t, not paying them everything they promised if the baby doesn’t come out exactly right. It’s wrong.”

One last time, the camera switched to Ms. Westly standing outside of the NuPet compound. Her face was serious. “As a result of our investigation, both local police and federal authorities have begun their own inquiry into these allegations. The Eyewitness News team will continue to provide up-to-date coverage on these breaking events. Back to you Kimberly and Grant.”

On the couch, the three of us took a collective breath, as if all at once we had remembered the need for air. Penn’s hand drifted over to mine, his fingers tightened around my hand, squeezing tight. On the other side of me, Missy laid her head against my shoulder.

The newscasters continued to speak, but their voices hardly mattered anymore. We’d done it. We’d given Ms. Westly the files and just as she’d promised, she’d given the story to the world.

Now all we had to do was wait.

Missy sighed. “Is it weird that I can’t wait to live alone after all this is over and done with?”

“You wouldn’t be lonely?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Maybe I’ll get a cat.”

And just like that, the tension in the room broke. “A cat?” I sputtered, laughing. “Doesn’t that seem kind of ironic?”

“Yeah. It does.” Missy snorted. “A pet for a pet.”

“It’s like the circle of life,” Penn said.

“Well, I don’t care if it’s weird,” Missy said. “It’ll be my life, and I can have a cat if I want to. He’s going to be a big, fat spoiled cat named Mr. Lickens and I’ll give him cans of tuna fish and leave the kitchen window open so he can come and go how he pleases.”

She’d closed her eyes and her voice got quiet, almost as if she were whispering a story that she’d told herself a hundred times.

“But mostly he’ll curl up in my lap while I sit in the big chair in my living room. And there will be geraniums on the windowsill and a little radio to play music while I read books about powerful women who fly planes and cure the sick. And when I feel like taking a trip to Spain, I’ll go. And when I feel like eating cake… Well, I guess I’ll just have to learn to bake.”

She stopped talking, but she didn’t open her eyes and I was pretty sure that she could see it, her future home. I could see it too: the red flowers and the big orange cat.

“What about you, Ella?” Penn said.

“Oh, I don’t want a cat,” I joked.

“No, you’ll be too busy flying planes and curing the sick,” he said.

“Is that what you want?” Missy asked. “A big life?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The only thing I’ve ever really wanted was to be able to make my own choices. If I can do that, then I guess anything feels like a big life. I know I want to make music and I know I want to be with Penn. Those things feel huge.”

T
hat night, the distant call of sirens drifted through the thin windows, but I hardly noticed. I slept more soundly than I had in ages, tucked securely against the warm curve of Penn’s body. It seemed impossible that I’d ever been able to sleep without his chest pressed against my back or the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath lulling me.

In the morning, I woke to the sound of Missy padding down the hallway. The stairs squealed softly beneath her weight and I shifted in bed, running my fingers through Penn’s hair where his head rested against my chest.

“Let’s stay here all day,” he said, drowsily rubbing his cheek against my skin.

The blankets were warm, a perfect nest, and I closed my eyes, feeling the way my body had already started to drift back into sleep.

“Ella! Penn!” Missy called from downstairs. Her voice was shrill, upset, and we both jumped, throwing back the covers.

We rushed down the stairs, Penn pulling his T-shirt over his head as we stepped into the family room. She stood in front of the television. On the floor at her feet a cup held the last few drops of cranberry juice. The rest bled into the pale carpet, but she didn’t notice. Her eyes were trained on the screen.

“They said it’s because of the story,” she said, pointing to the TV with a shaking hand.

“They said what?” Penn asked, stooping to pick up the glass she’d dropped.

“The fires!” she said. She looked away from the TV for just a moment and her eyes traveled to the floor where the red drink had puddled, a look of confusion on her face.

“Fires?” I asked.

On the TV, a man with a microphone stood in front of the burned-out shell of a building. “…are baffled by the rioting and looting that has swept at least half a dozen major cities.”

The image switched to a group of police officers trying to hold back a mob of angry people in the street. They were standing in front of a tall white building with a domed roof.

“That’s the capital,” Penn said, lowering himself down on the edge of one of the chairs.

A few of the people held signs, but the majority of them were screaming something. The camera swept over the group of them as their mouths opened and closed in a chant that I couldn’t quite make out.

“What are they saying?” I asked.

“I can’t tell.” Penn shook his head. “There’s some signs that say ‘Murder Big Money.’ And it says ‘Protesters Storm Capital’ at the bottom.”

“It doesn’t matter what they’re saying!” Missy yelled. “It’s because of the story. It’s because of us.”

“I don’t think so,” Penn said, shaking his head. “It was only on the local news. They can’t have picked the story up this fast.”

Across the room, the phone rang. We jumped and stared at it, as if it was confirming everything that Missy was saying.

It rang again.

I dashed over to pick up the receiver. “Hello?” My voice shook.

“It’s Diane, are you all safe?”

My hand trembled. “What? Yes, we just came downstairs and turned on the television and—”

“Good. Okay, so you know,” she interrupted.

Missy moved up so close to me that her ear was practically even with mine.

“Let me put it on speaker,” Penn said, pushing a button on the phone and all of a sudden Ms. Westly’s voice filled the room.

“…surprised everyone, even the executives. We’ve never had a story go viral like this. We’d planned to be picked up by our affiliates, but we hadn’t planned on this sort of coverage. It’s everywhere. Can you believe it?” Ms. Westly’s voice didn’t hold the same terror that we felt. She sounded…excited. Elated even. “It’s more than I dreamed of. Give people a dead baby story and they get pissed off.”

“But it’s not good, is it?” I asked. “Those fires. People might be getting hurt.”

“Well the looting is never good,” she said, “but you can’t control it. And I promise you—it’s helping your cause. You might not realize it, but these people have made it impossible to ignore.”

“So now what?” I asked.

“We’ll be airing coverage all day,” she said. “I’d come by to check on you, but I’m swamped. I’ve got an interview with the police chief and Senator Hunt later today. I just wanted to call and tell you not to contact anyone. Stay away from the windows, don’t answer the door. Obvious things. You should be set there for a few days and I’m confident that you’ll be safe.”

The three of us had been staring down at the phone that I still clasped in my hand, but now we stared at one another. How could she be so confident? We saw what had happened overnight. All it had taken was one story and the world was on fire.