CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Russell:
That lizard monster, that human-esque creature that stalks my nightmares, came back years later, just like I knew he would. It was the last week in May, about four years ago, and I was just leaving our West Coast headquartersa€”the very first Fresh Start laboratorya€”when I decided to go for a walk. I needed to clear my head. Lately every meeting with our top-level executives spawned something dark. Things had gotten increasingly complicated in the past several years, ever since that Stringer rejected his new body and accidentally downloaded into someone elsea€?s clone. Problem was, it was already occupied. Two Newbies in one body. And we didna€?t figure it out for five months. By that time both Newbies had gone insane. The media crucified us when they got hold of the story, and all the major governments were demanding to see our records, to make sure that it didna€?t happen again.
Nobody cared about the poor clowns that got fried in the process. They just wanted to make sure that it never happened to them.
So, I wasna€?t paying attention to where I was going and I should have kept one of the company guards with me. Hindsight is all about wishing that you could change the past. I dona€?t care about that. I wish I could change the future, that I could rewrite the bloodstain splatter on the wall that I know is coming.
Neville found me in Costa Mesa, on the corner of Harbor and Adams. It was even more horrific to see him on a sun-drenched street than in the darkened caverns of my memory. His muscles were carved from a fresh trip to a gen lab, his breath as sour as the pit of hell, and his smile was exactly the same as the night he threatened my father.
a€?I gots something for ya, puppy.a€? The lizard monster stood in my path, beefy reptilian arms crossed. I could see liquid movement beneath his skin as sinew and bone refolded, regenerated. A snappy tension hung in the air, seemed to surround him like a crackling halo, a vortex that could pull me in if I got too close. He tossed me a translucent plastic chip about the size of my fingernail. Some sort of computer file. a€?Ita€?s a project ya needs to finish for me.a€?
a€?What makes you think I would help you?a€?
a€?I hears yur mama, she aina€?t feeling too good.a€?
I shrugged. a€?So?a€?
a€?Ya thinks ita€?s an accident, yur mama beings so sick?a€?
I paused, trying to figure out the connection between the chip in my hand and the mysterious illness that had recently incapacitated my mother. I didna€?t notice his hand sweeping toward me. Dona€?t think I could have moved fast enough anyway.
He grabbed me and yanked me into a nearby alley, into blue-black shadows, where he shoved me down on the ground and held me with a knee to my chest. I gasped, tried to fight back, to break free, but it was over before I knew it.
a€?I hads a feelina€? ya would needs some convincina€?,a€? Neville breathed in my ear.
Then he jammed a two-inch gen-spike in my left forearm. I shuddered and gasped again, sharp pain shredding down my arm, then throughout my body. A second later I got the adrenaline kick and I shrugged Lizard Boy off me like he was a piece of paper. He flew across the alley and landed with a dull thud, his back against a distant brick wall, legs splayed out beneath him, and a wicked grin on his primitive face.
The genetic cocktail rushed through me, bringing waves of delirious ecstasy. Like some sort of superhero, I could feel the muscles in my arms and chest expand like bands of steel. I could have wrapped that monstera€?s legs around his head, and I moved toward him, ready to crush his skull with my fist.
But he simply held his hand in front of me, palm up.
He had my mother in his hand: a tiny VR projection, a three-dimensional, real-time recording. She was talking to a doctor dressed in something like a space suit.
a€?Ia€?m sorry, but we dona€?t know whata€?s wrong with you, Mrs. Domingue. Wea€?ve never encountered these symptoms before,a€? the miniature faceless doctor said. a€?Wea€?re going to have to quarantine you, for your own safetya€”a€?
Mom sat on an examining table, silent.
a€?Of course, that is, until we can figure out how to treat your illness.a€?
a€?I cana€?t go home.a€? It was a statement, a resignation.
The doctor shook his head.
My mother lowered her face into her hands and began to weep. It was quiet and heartbreaking, a devastating scene that she never would have wanted me to see.
a€?Youa€?re a demon,a€? I said. I wanted to kill this creature sprawled on the ground in front of me.
a€?Yeah, and yur gonna helps me. Or yur mama, she dies.a€?
Nemesis is too small a word for what this beast was or what our relationship would become.
I staggered backward then, as the second wave of the genetic cocktail hit me. It was better than euphoric. It was heavenly. Suddenly I didna€?t care about our corporate image or my dying mother. I was caught in the middle of an inconceivable high, muscles growing, endorphins roaring, and I was already wondering how I could get my next fix.
Then I understood.
This reptilian beast had me exactly where he wanted.
?
The little plastic disk explained it all. The secret government experiments. The doctors and scientists with the yard-long credentials who would be oh-so-happy to work with me. The current state of the research process.
They were close, but not close enough. They needed access to my grandfathera€?s research, the original resurrection formulaa€”before it was altered for clone bodies. They needed my laboratory and my equipment.
They needed me.
I sat in front of my computer, deciding which of their experts would be best to work with, scrolling through curricula vitae that read like scientific encyclopedias. At the same time I clutched a handful of gen-spikesa€”my precious thirty pieces of silver, for which I was ready to betray my family, to destroy everything they had worked so hard to preserve.
I took hours to select the members of my team. When I got down to the final person, I debated for a long time, torn between four different applicants. I toggled back and forth from one list of credentials to another. At last I opened their photos. That was when I made my choice.
She had long glossy black hair, green eyes, olive skina€”she was gorgeous. Her credentials werena€?t quite as impressive as the other three, but if I was going to sell my soul to the devil, then I may as well enjoy the trip to hell.
Ellen Witherspoon. That was her name.
And I was right. It was an incredibly wonderful journey to hell.