Mortal - Chapter 22

Premise: In this young-adult dystopian novel, people can no longer die. But they still feel pain, and suffer--and it's maddening. Because of the chaos that ensued, the US Government created a program to figure out how to kill people. When Garrett, a teenager, falls into a coma for weeks as a result of an experiment, the Program sets its malicious sights on him.

This is the twenty-second chapter of the novel, Mortal. Click here for the beginning of the story. Or, click here to view all chapters.

“There’s no sign of infection,” Bern states, running his fingers down the stitches in my side.

I wince when he presses his index finger a little too roughly against my skin. Bern glances up at me, noting my discomfort. “You refused the pain killers,” he says almost accusingly. He pulls his hand away after a moment, and I lower the fresh t-shirt back over my stomach.

Around six in the morning, after giving up the idea of anything more than four hours of sleep, Bern returned to the building. With the night, his temper had hardened into a steely composure that I wasn’t sure if I were thankful for or not just yet. He brought me a paper bag, filled with new clothing, and it was a relief to finally toss away the muddy and wrinkled remains of Edward’s polo and pants.

I nod, unsurely, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my jeans. It’s just the two of us right now. Last night, Lucy forced Edward to come back home with her, and even though the darkness under Bern’s eyes has faded, and the angry glint in his eyes has all but vanished, I remain quiet. I don’t want to set him off again with no one to stop him, and I certainly don’t want to get back into talking about my parents.

Bern takes a long gulp of his coffee, sighing when he rests his mug against the table beside him. “Are you in pain?” he asks, “You don’t seem to be sleeping well.”

I smile mirthlessly at the indirect insult to my current appearance, “I’m fine,” I say, “There’s…there’s just been a lot to think about.”

“There certainly has,” he responds, brow raised. “And…” his lips press into a firm line, and his eyes narrow at a small chip in the porcelain of his cup. “I wanted to apologize about yesterday.” His gaze darts to meet my face. “I have to keep reminding myself that you’re only a kid, Garrett. And you’ve been through hell. This whole situation is crazy for all of us, and I’ll admit that I got scared yesterday. Real scared.”

“Bern, it’s okay,” I assure, finally allowing myself to be trapped and sit down in front of him. “I think those hours of sleep were good for us, and now we can work on what we need to.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, a crooked smile curving his lips, “I was literally about to wrap Edward’s tie around his god damn throat.”

“He would kill you for ruining his tie,” I grin back.

“Oh, I know it,” he chuckles while bringing the coffee mug to his lips.

Both of us look toward the window, peering through the cracks in the wooden blinds to see the sun peek its way through the gaps between buildings.

“I know it will be hard,” Bern begins, tilting his mug in his hands, “But when we get to the institution, we’ll have to be strong for another. Or the trip back home is not gonna be fun in the least.”

I then remember that everyone, except maybe Edward, is dreading the visit. It’s not just me. Lucy, who will have to step foot in a mental hospital when she thought she’d never have to again. Bern, the disgraced doctor, who might have to come face-to-face with the patients he failed. And I can take a twisted sense of comfort in realizing, it’s not just me, that I am not alone.

The elevator sounds upon arrival, and Lucy and Edward soon stride into the room. Both of them look refreshed, and the editor looks sober, his blue eyes piercing and clear. His auburn hair is damp from a shower and is only just beginning to curl above his raised eyebrows. His deep, blue suit is clean and crisp from professional-ironing, and it seems Bern’s plan for ‘strangulation by designer tie’ has turned slightly more difficult for he’s fastening its narrow form to a silver tie clip.

“I need a damn cup of coffee,” he declares gruffly, dropping his leather briefcase on the floor.

“There’s some in the conference room,” Bern replies with a humoring smile as Edward leaves for it without another word.

I turn to look at Lucy, wondering if she’s still struggling with the events of yesterday, but her appearance would only reveal the contrary. Her dirty-blonde hair is pulled into a tight bun, and although her skin is pale, it’s definitely natural. There’s a small smile on her pink lips as she stares in the direction that Edward has walked towards, and I know that she might not be okay, but she’s strong.

“Bernard,” Edward reenters the room, looking sourly at his mug, “If cold coffee ever were to become a desired delicacy, remind me to hire you for the job.”

Bern ignores him and rises from the couch. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Lucy says with a nod, “Edward talked to one of his informants last night. The hospital is in Nebraska.”

“Nebraska?” Bern repeats, lifting his backpack over his shoulder. He turns to me, “Is that where you’re from, Garrett?”

“I…” I frown at the strain of finding the memory. Why is it so hard for me to remember? I can see them watching me expectantly, and when their eyes begin to fill with concern, I jerk myself out of the stupor and stammer out, “Yeah, it is.” My hands are feeling clammy, and it takes me a lot of effort not to rub them down my pants.

“You don’t sound so sure,” Edward points out, looking at me from above the rim of his mug as he takes a slow sip.

“It’s been a while,” I say a little too quickly. Doubt. Uncertainty. This is how I feel about my own head. These emotions have been feasting on my festering thoughts prominently since yesterday, but there’s something to do now, and I can get past it. I can ignore it. I have to. But why didn’t I remember the state I was raised in? Why does everything seem so suspicious?

“Yeah,” Edward nods curtly, dropping his mug onto the table before glancing at his watch, “Best be going.”

We were able to leave the magazine without attracting too much attention. Most of the employees had yet to arrive, if at all, on the early Saturday morning, and the secretary at the front desk was too busy fiddling with the ink cartridges of the fax machine to pay us any notice.

I had stopped in front of the large glass doors, hesitant. Edward and Bern were already outside, hopping down the concrete steps, but I couldn’t do it so carelessly. This business might be the last place I would ever be able to relate to as a home, and I had been afraid of losing the foreign comfort.

“Hey,” Lucy had said, gripping my shoulder with one hand as she opened the door with her other, “It’ll be okay.”

And I had let her push me through the door.

The parking garage wasn’t far off, only a block away, and only when all four of us had buckled our seatbelts in Edward’s sleek, black car, did I relax, exhaling deeply and sinking into the leather cushion of the backseat.

Edward starts the ignition, and adjusts his mirror slightly. My eyes meet those of his reflection and I struggle to keep it, for he actually looks worried about me. Well, mildly.

“So do we need to come up with a back-story? Garrett and I are your European cousins?” Lucy shrugs sheepishly, pulling at the seatbelt that’s chafing against her bare collar bone.

 Edward glances back at her from the rear-view mirror, “What is this? Scooby-fucking-Doo? Hell no.”

We’re moving now. Slowly through the lines of cars in the dark concrete building, flood lights flickering briefly as the car descends a ramp, leaving the garage and turning onto the main street of the city.

“We don’t need a cover story,” Edward says. “There’s nothing illegal about Garrett seeing his parents. It is, however, questionable, that some German boy wants to meet with two mentally unstable strangers.”

We’re in a long line, prevented to move any farther by a seemingly never-ending red light. Edward reaches for his sunglasses that are clipped to the car’s sun visor, and manages to shove them onto his face with one hand.

“The Secretary will know,” Lucy explains quietly. She’s staring out the window, out into the smoggy city. I recognize a few buildings through my own window, and realize they’re familiar. I jerk my head towards hers, and icy coldness rolls down my spine when I see it: Asterfield Park. 

My throat strains at the memory, and I subtly choke on my breath. If you want to hide, run towards. And isn’t that what I’m doing now? I’ve never wanted to see my parents since. I wanted to hide from them. Could…the Corpse be right? I shake my head, warily, and hastily say, “He’ll be alerted either way. He told me he’s been monitoring them.”

“Huh. What did I tell you, Luce?” Edward asks. The car slowly creeps forward once the traffic light turns green. “Rotten idea.”

“You’re rotten,” Lucy mutters, her face flushing slightly.

“Ouch. That really hurt my feelings,” Edward replies sarcastically.

I watch Lucy beside me, who doesn’t look happy at all, but suddenly a smile is peeking through her lips and she’s staring at Edward’s reflection in the mirror, and they’re both trying to contain their laughter. Maybe they didn’t sleep as much as I thought, and I’m about to grin myself.

“Why did the Secretary monitor your parents?” Bern asks.

The smile on my lips leaves prematurely, and I slouch against the side-door uncomfortably. “He wanted to know if they ever asked about me,” I barely whisper out.

“And did they?”

“Not even once.”

We’re practically silent when we leave the big city. Oddly, I feel vulnerable. Since being held captive by Eden, in bland hotel rooms to the complex itself, I’ve been isolated. Everything is new to me. And if there’s one thing Project Eden’s taught me, is to fear the unknown.

Bern is unfolding a map he retrieved from his backpack. The paper crinkles while he shifts its position, attempting to find our current location. “Keep this route until—“

“I have a GPS, thank you,” Edward growls in mild irritation, “And she’s much more pleasant to listen to.”

Bern crumples the map in his fists, “And I’m sure—“

“Will both of you just shut up?” Lucy suggests exasperatedly. “All you do is bicker. You’re like an old couple.”

Edward clears his throat, the seams of his lip curving upwards, “Doctor, I’m going to have to ask you to prescribe me some nausea medication just from the thought of that. Oh, wait. You can’t.”

I watch Bern’s reaction carefully, and it seems he’s using all his control not to punch the editor in the face. I can’t understand either of them. And it seems Lucy has similar feelings.

“Honestly, Edward,” she sighs, “Why did you even hire him?”

“The same reason I hired you, sweetheart,” Edward winks at her reflection in the rear-view mirror.

“I’m flattered,” Lucy breathes distastefully, pursing her lips.

Edward chuckles.

The long path down the highway is in every way, bleak. Each of us tries our hand at casual conversation, commenting on the barely evident traffic, and the rain clouds billowing above us. I think I can tell what we’re all thinking given the way the words are forced out of our mouths. We need to talk about the hospital. My parents. VitCorp. Project Eden. And even I feel the urge in my gut to talk about our immortality. But we don’t. It just doesn’t feel right, not when this feels so damn normal, that we’re just a dysfunctional family embarking on one of those road trips, that you kind of regret taking, but would do it all again in a heartbeat. I know we’ll have to get to it eventually, but for now, I’m content with listening to their random comments, watching the cars pass by, and the tiny droplets of rain falling against the window.

Edward turns on his iPod, and the music is wired through all the speakers in the car. I can’t say I’m surprised to find that Edward’s taste in music lies in classical. The orchestra is soft, but I can just picture their bow hands quivering with excitement. The unique tone of an oboe pierces through background harmonies and reverberates through my ears. I rest my head against the cool window pane, closing my eyes and allowing the oboe’s anguished song to lull me into a trance.

“Sounds like a duck,” Bern says flatly. I can imagine the smug smirk on his face, for pinpointing another one of Edward’s sensitivities.

“No, Bernard, that’s what you sound like,” Edward responds coldly.

“I’m turning this off.”

“Don’t you dare mess with my B flat Concerto,” Edward warns.

I can feel myself slipping, sleep dragging me into its depths. The music vanishes, but I continue to fall.

“God damn it.”

Edward’s words are the last I hear.

Shaking. Shaking. We’re shaking. Is there an earthquake? No..she’s the only one shaking. Her whole body quivers with adrenalized turmoil. Black tears. She lifts the gun and points it at my head.

Now I am shaking. I’m seizing.

No.

I am dying.

A hand rests on my shoulder, its coldness seeping through the fabric of my shirt, and I flinch awake, jerking away from the person touching me. It’s hard to see anything. Everything is cast in shadows. There’s a continuous tapping sound surrounding me. A bellowing rumble curdles my blood, and I inhale sharply, scrunching my eyes shut.

“Garrett!” The hand is on me again, and I desperately want it off me, but I’m cornered against something hard. There’s nothing…absolutely nothing I can—

“Open your eyes!” the voice tells me.

And although I don’t know the reason, I obey, and blink several times. I’m in the car. It’s raining, and it is Lucy who is grasping my arm and watching me with concerned, glowing eyes.

“Whaa?” I manage confusedly, and pull myself upright.

“Would you look at that, Luce? You didn’t even have to kiss the sleeping beauty to wake him up,” Edward chimes condescendingly.

I ignore him and focus on Lucy. “What’s happening?”

“Bad storm. We’re stopping in a town in Iowa to wait it out. It’s almost dinner time anyways,” Lucy shrugs carelessly, but her eyes still reflect that she’s worried about me.

“I—“ my eyes widen, “I was asleep that long?”

“You certainly needed it,” Bern replies calmly. “Take the exit here,” Bern tells Edward, pointing to a sign, in their blurry sight, a few hundred feet away. Edward clicks on his turn single.

“Garrett, are you all right?” Lucy finally asks after a shared moment of just listening to the rain droplets hitting the car, and the squeak of the windshield wipers.

“Huh?” I furrow my brow at her, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a nightmare.”

Lucy nods, but her eyes narrow, and her lip twitches in suspicion. It was just a nightmare. Wasn’t it?

There’s another bright flash of light that illuminates the entire interior of the car, followed by a roaring boom of thunder. They both trigger a heavy ache in the side of my forehead. Wearily, I press the bottom of my palm against my throbbing skull. Wasn’t it?

By the time we reach the small town, all of us are about to lose our nerve. Bern seemed to stiffen in his seat every time another roar bombarded our ears, and Edward had begun cursing after every strike of lightning, choosing a new word or phrase with each time. But Lucy had me worried the most. She didn’t speak. She held her legs to her chest, and rested her head against the top of her knee. She was trembling. This storm dug up memories that neither of us wanted to relive.

Edward parks in front of an old diner. The flickering, neon sign on the side of the roof reads Rodney’s. Bern tosses me a grey sweatshirt from the front-seat, and I hastily pull it over my head. Once Edward pulls the key from the ignition, we all jump from the car, and run toward the entrance of the restaurant, hard, wet rain forcing the warmth and dryness of our bodies into a bleak surrender.

We barrel through the glass door, and nearly slip on the water we bring with us when our feet hit turquoise tile. There’s a few elderly couples sitting at the booths, but other than them, the entire place is deserted. My ear twitches at the sound of a crackling radio somewhere from the kitchen.

I wipe the water from my cheeks, with a ragged gasp, and shake my hair like a soaking dog. Edward goes up to the young hostess with the loose ponytail and asks for table which she leads us to with a lop-sided smile. She hands us the menus, and I guess Rodney’s diner is either low on staff tonight because of the weather, or she’s enamored with Edward because she asks every one of us what we want to drink, but her eyes never fully leave Edward’s damp face. Edward smiles charmingly at her when she finally begins to leave.

“Well that was interesting,” he says, rolling his eyes, and absently flipping through the menu.

“You’re just too hot for your own good,” Lucy responds, glancing down at her own.

“Obviously.”  I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not. Probably serious.

Edward unwraps his silverware and takes the paper napkin to dry his face. Lucy smiles at him, her shoulder bumping into me, “How cute,” she teases.

Edward glowers at her. “You’re insulting,” he says coldly. He folds the paper napkin into an even square before setting his fork and knife on top of it.

“Why would you say that?” she asks, placing her elbows on the table and leaning towards him.

“You’re insinuating that I’m a pedophile!” Edward exclaims.

“She really doesn’t look that young!”

“She has braces!”

The hostess soon returns, carrying a tray of coffees, and as soon as she sets mine down, I bring the mug to my lips and allow the sweltering liquid to warm me. I’m cold enough to feel a twinge of satisfaction when the coffee singes the tip of my tongue.

“Would you like some sugar with that, sir?” the hostess asks, staring expectantly at Edward.

Lucy’s body shakes against mine as she tries to hold in her bubbling laughter. Even Bern, nonchalantly snorts. Edward doesn’t look pleased. “No,” he says flatly, “I’m diabetic.”

The hostess’ face turns sheet-white, and she quickly apologizes under her breath, not daring to look the editor in the eye for a second longer. She takes our orders quietly, and nearly runs away as soon as Bern has ordered his hamburger.

“I’m diabetic,” Lucy mutters mockingly, stirring her coffee with a knife. She glances up at Edward peevishly and smiles.

Edward scowls at her. My eyes meet Bern’s, and he shakes his head stiffly, his lip twisting at the side. He pulls the poorly folded map from his coat pocket, and spreads it over half the table, pushing the salt and pepper shakers and the ketchup bottle to the end of the table.

He locates our current location with his index finger and traces our predicted course. “We’re about ten hours away,” he says after a moment of furrowing his brow.

Edward frowns slightly and shifts in his seat, pulling his cell phone from his trouser pocket. He taps his finger against the screen a few times before saying, “The storm’s suppose to last through the night.”

I look at everyone at the table, and see the conflict in their crinkled faces. No one wants to go out in that storm again, but we all know that if the Secretary hasn’t already figured it out, he’s bound to know very soon where we’re headed. And none of us know what that could mean.

“We have to stay the night, then,” Lucy is the first to speak up, “We can’t drive in that.”

“You’re forgetting that we’d be moving away from the storm, Lucy,” Edward replies, but I can sense an edge of reluctance in his voice.

“Don’t give me that crap, Edward,” Lucy responds. “We’re in Iowa. In the middle of  flood season. Besides, when we get to the hospital, we’ll want to be ready, won’t we?”

“Yes,” Edward agrees, rubbing his temple.

“That’s a fair point, Lucy,” Bern says, refolding the map, this time, more carefully. “But are we prepared to make a trade between rest and the Secretary getting his hands on Garrett?”

I flinch at the thought, and a terrifying image of Arthur Paracot’s dark eyes staring hungrily into me, blazes in my mind. I’m forced to jerk myself out of my mind when the young hostess returns, placing a basket of fries and a burger in front of me.

“Excuse me,” Lucy turns with a sweet smile to the quiet girl, “Do you know of any hotels around here?”

I guess that answers Bern’s question. He glances at me as if we both should be upset.

“Yeah,” the hostess answers, blushing, “There’s one just up the street by the gas station.”

“Thanks,” Lucy nods to the girl, dismissing her politely.

“You don’t even think we should discuss this?” Bern asks incredulously once the hostess leaves.

“No,” Lucy says, murderously squeezing the nearly empty ketchup bottle onto her fries. “I don’t.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Bern shakes his head at her, sneering, “What’s the point of this little road trip if Garrett gets intercepted before we even get there?”

Lucy watches him carefully as she pulls the tomatoes from the greasy bun of her cheeseburger. “I’m ridiculous?” she demands, “You’re the one who still thinks this isn’t a trap. Of course, this is a trap. The Secretary wouldn’t have mentioned something like that if he had no intention of luring us in.”

“And what do you think he’s luring us into? What does Garrett seeing his parents have to do with anything?” Bern questions angrily.

Lucy’s lip juts out, “I don’t know.”

Bern has a point. Why would the Secretary want me to go see my parents? Unless he’s toying with me, wants me to see my insane parents just to find about an idea that never existed in the first place.

Bern smiles smugly, “See? What did I—“

“Shut up, both of you,” Edward orders tiredly. He absently stabs his burger with a knife before continuing, “We’re going to drive through the night.”

Lucy blinks in confusion, frowning, “Edward, I don’t think—“

“We’ll be fine, Luce,” the editor reassures, “Bern and I can take turns driving, and we have to account for the traffic we will most definitely face. I agree, this could very damn well be a trap, but for once, Bernard’s logic make sense. I don’t think the hospital is the trap, but getting us out of the magazine, out of Chicago, could be what he wanted: We can’t hide anymore.” He looks at all of us straight in the eye, “And the more time we have at the hospital, the more time we have to figure all this out before it really does become a trap.”

Lucy just shakes her head, but she knows there is no point in arguing. She takes a large bite of her cheeseburger, grease sliding down her fingertips.

We eat the rest of our meal in silence. There’s not much to talk about, and we can’t risk compromising ourselves by mentioning anything confidential in this too quiet diner. I glance over to the kitchen to see the single chef and the young hostess beginning to wipe down the metal counters. We’re the only customers in the diner now, the last old couple having left about fifteen minutes ago.

The ache in my head still pounds, and I know the caffeine in the coffee will only make it worse, but I realize, with the hours ahead, I know it is a necessity. I drain the rest of my mug before setting it down. Sleeping no longer seems desirable.

Edward places a fifty dollar bill under the ketchup bottle, and we’re leaving, running out into the cold, pounding rain and into the car. The rain and night sky is nearly blinding, but we manage to slam the doors behind us, jerking our seatbelts on, and panting heavily.

We’re on the highway before anyone speaks again, and it’s me. They all seem a little disconcerted by my voice, including myself, for I have remained silent. But I have been thinking, and now I need to know. I need to be prepared. I can’t pretend that I am safe, that there will be no difficulties along this journey of taking Project Eden down.

“Tell me what I need to know.”

Lucy’s squinting at me, through the darkness, and I can see both men’s eyes looking at me through the rear-view mirror. Edward sighs when he returns his steely gaze to the rode.

“You need to know that we’re going to do everything we can to make sure you never have to go back there,” Bern says firmly, his eyes drifting back towards the window.

“That’s not what I mean,” I say softly, my throat tightening against my words. I have to face what I didn’t want to before. Our odds against defeating the Secretary, Project Eden, the government—they are not in our favor. I have to face that this crazy escape attempt was for nothing, that I have only troubled this group of people. I have to face that I might become a martyr, but for all the wrong reasons. Reasons that are not my own.

After a moment of dead silence, Bern responds sadly, “I know.”

I rest my head against the cool glass of the window pane when I don’t think I’ll receive any more of an answer from him. And I am right, but only because Edward decides to speak.

“Garrett. I know you’ve had to experience things that most people can’t even imagine. So I know you understand the stakes. And I know you understand the price on your head. We’re talking about conjuring mortality for Christ’s sake. Causing death. Creating the mortal.” The editor drums his fingers against the steering wheel, matching the steady pound of the rain against the windshield. He clears his throat, “Here’s the thing, Garrett. Time is not on our side. Without a doubt in my mind, you will be taken, and there won’t be a damn thing we can do about it. But I swear to God, I will do everything in my power to make sure that program is blown to hell before they can even touch you.”

I’ve always appreciated Edward’s bluntness, and this case is no different. Maybe Lucy’s right, maybe I can trust him. Because at this point, my life and his magazine are intertwined. For now, there is no difference between it and myself. And for the first time in this desolate landscape, void of any mountain or building, a warm feeling of safety fills me.

“Thank you, Edward,” I say.

“Yeah, well, my promises don’t mean shit.” He almost sounds embarrassed.

I look to Lucy and she smiles at me, and pulls my hand towards her.

I guess that means a lot.