“I do admire your compassion,” Huck continued, slumping down into his chair. “Don’t get me wrong. You are an admirable man, Scott…but in times of great war and great change, there are hard decisions. The end will justify the means, I believe that and so do you. We have a cause and we have a plan. Do not waver, and do not hesitate. Remain strong.” He put out his hand, palm down, and motioned for Scott. He reached, grabbing Huck’s hand in a side-shake.
“Of course,” Scott replied again and he tried to pull back, but Huck held on.
They stood there, with outstretched arms, Huck locked on to Scott.
“You are one of my most trusted colleagues,” Huck continued. He looked close to tears, his chin wobbled. “It hurts to think you didn’t trust that I would take care of you.”
“I’m sorry.” Scott looked to the floor. He admired the brown speckled carpet. He could still feel Huck watching him, assessing his every move. And Scott felt his hand go cold. The prolonged handshake felt more ominous the longer it continued.
Then Huck released him and Scott hesitated for a second before letting his hand drop to his side.
“I will let you know when the planes leave,” Huck added with mechanical and businesslike air. “We shall welcome Ethan home like the prodigal son. And we shall spin the story of the child…we’ll find a way. Leave the details to me.”
Scott nodded. Frozen.
“And…Grant…our stowaway,” Huck said as a reminder. “I expect to be notified when the results are in. And continue to work on our second virus. No matter the outcome with Grant, I still intend to follow-through with a second release. I won’t take any chances before we move to the Islands. Do you understand? I’m done cleaning up all of your messes. Lucy. Grant. Ethan. This child. Make it right or suffer the ultimate consequence. Is that clear enough, Scott?”
With his eyes steely, cutting into Scott like a saw, opening him piece by piece, Huck sat in his chair. He turned his body away, and after a lingering moment of awkward silence, Scott nodded, turned, and let himself out. Once in the hallway, a safe distance from the man he had followed into the underground System, Scott took a shaky breath. He put his hand out against the wall to steady himself and let all the ramifications of his choices wash over him.
He knew what he needed to do next.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cass and Lucy sat on the couches in the Center and watched the others around them with idle curiosity. They looked like the picture of teenage apathy: faces drawn in tight-lines, nary a smile in sight, their slender legs hanging over the edges of the cushions, swinging and bouncing to imaginary music.
While the energy of the other System occupants filled the room with the sound equivalent to a hive of tireless bees, the girls sat in silence. A book from the lending library, next to the movie theater, lay open on Lucy’s lap, open and cracked along the spine. She tried to read and reread the first paragraph at least a dozen times, but her mind drifted to her breakfast with Huck, her fight with her family, and her last moments with Grant. Everything continued to slip into an even more unreal version of itself and Lucy just closed her eyes and tried to pretend that she was back at her real home, in her own gym at Pacific Lake; in this reality Salem was by her side, and they were listening to the boys play basketball during lunch.
She had just captured the perfect level of transcendence, when she felt the shift around her; there was a disruption in her daydream. Lucy opened a single eye and saw her father standing a few feet away, watching her.
Cass didn’t move from her spot on the couch. She too looked up at their visitor and before she could say hello, she yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Good afternoon, Mr. King,” Cass said. “Pop on down for a bit of darts?” she added with a wink.
“Lucy?” Scott questioned ignoring Cass’s question, and Lucy rolled her head to look at him. “I was heading to the lab…” he paused and ran his fingers through his hair, then he looked to Cass and then back to Lucy. “Do you want to come with me?”
Swinging her legs down off the edge, Lucy turned. “To see Grant?” She caught a glimpse of her friend in the corner of her eye, who offered her a sly smile.
Her father nodded.
She pivoted again and looked at Cass for permission, and the bubbly beauty blew her a kiss.
“Amuse-toi bien,” Cass said. “Give the boy an extra hug from me…from a friend he’s never met,” she added. And Lucy swung off the couch, her book tumbling to the ground. Tossing it back to the couch, she reciprocated the air-kiss – smacking her hand and waving goodbye to Cass. Lucy’s heart pounded with excitement and an ounce of trepidation—could this be the moment she had hoped for? Had Huck’s words carried any power with her father? Or was her father merely allowing her a proper goodbye? She reserved celebration until she knew for sure, until Grant was free.
“Does this mean what I think it means?” Lucy asked her father as she walked over to him. She tugged on the back of his shirt. “Does it?”
“I need to examine some results,” was all her father said and he led the way, picking up his pace. Lucy skipped to keep up. They exited the gym area and made it halfway down the hall before he slowed his stride.
“Dad—” she continued to press, and Scott spun: he looked so tired and weary, that Lucy hesitated. There were dark circles under his eyes that she had never seen before and his hair seemed peppered with gray. His cheeks were sallow and saggy. She realized that he had aged more in a month than in an entire decade. He seemed like a mere shadow of the man she remembered from their life in Portland. And Lucy’s throat went dry and she started to speak, but no words came out.
Her father had always been a handsome man. She was young, in elementary school, when she first noticed the way people looked at him—as if his ruggedness, his youthful face, seemed out of place with the rest of his life. They watched him—the attractive scientist, with the ever-growing family—and talked about him behind his back. Then he’d speak, and he’d fumble a joke, refuse a handshake, his neuroses glaring to those who knew him best. It was those small details of her dad that made him so special to her. So real.
Her hero. Her rock.
And he ruined everything.
In an instant, he was nothing like the man she thought raised her. Somewhere, deep down, the Scott King she idolized was still living and breathing beneath the shell, but something else had taken him. He was lost to her.
It seemed like a lifetime ago when she was sitting in Wyoming, playing with the flowers, reluctant to leave the beauty and tranquility of the mountains to join a family forever altered. Deep down, even then, she knew this would happen. Seeing him, facing him, accepting him. She couldn’t forgive him.
Scott opened his mouth, as if he were to tell her something, then he stopped and turned his head. He measured the way she was looking at him. And his face fell. Then it flashed, with something unrecognizable: fear or scorn, confusion or anger. She braced herself for scolding; prepared for him to unleash the deluge of his pent up emotions. But instead Scott took giant steps back to her and without warning enveloped Lucy in a hug, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
“Dad,” she whispered, but Scott hushed her.