Damselfly (26 page)

Her legs buckle and her silent scream raises the hair on the nape of my neck. The scene cuts away to the shocked host who can think of nothing to say for several seconds while the production assistants race into the “Garden of Love,” not even bothering to make sure the door closes behind them.

I peer through the crack in the doorway, but I can’t see anything. The Garden of Love is a crush of staff, all scrambling to help in some way. The all-too-familiar screams send chills up my spine. I heard those cries of pain the other night with Row. I would recognize that sound anywhere.

An assistant brings her phone up to her ear, but Dr. Christiansen slaps it away. I can’t hear what she says, but the girl goes white. There will be no help for Daphne. The whimpers of pain sound tired, but frantic. I cover my ears with my hands because I just can’t bear to hear it anymore.

I crawl into a corner under the television and allow the noise of the commercials to drown out the horrible sounds from the other room.

Half an hour later, sirens and flashing lights flood the compound. The politiet burst into the room, scouring everything with their blinding flashlights. Still, they don’t see me curled up in my corner. I watch them take Jane away and several of the film crew. Once they’ve cleared the room, a familiar face bursts in.

George. He knows just where to look.

“Come on, pixie,” he whispers, beckoning to me. “It’s over. It’s time to go.”

Chapter 34

Red and blue lights slash through the falling snow as I follow George into the parking lot of the politiet station. The cold leaves me breathless after the too-warm station that smelled of burnt coffee, old furniture, and broken hearts.

I keep seeing Daphne
breaking
. Slipping through Row’s arms, her body no longer her own to control. And the other dead girl’s moonlit arm with the purple fingernails that were the exact shade of the dye I put in my hair on my birthday. I see them over and over again.

They questioned me for several hours in the dingy station, with officers cycling in and out to get more and more information out of me. I saw the Toms waiting their turn in the lobby, but I didn’t get a chance to speak with them. I’m not sure if I would have wanted to anyway. It became clear pretty quickly that Daphne was the one I heard screaming late at night. There were several other test subjects—all girls who wanted to compete for the hearts of the Toms who weren’t spoken for at the end. All but Daphne died within weeks.

And Row knew they were doing this to Daphne. I suppose he didn’t know about the failed testing on the cats before. Maybe they fooled him the way they did Jack. Maybe he couldn’t deal with knowing the truth when we heard the screaming that night. He couldn’t handle seeing the girl he loved in pain or dying.

I still don’t completely understand. If I had been him, I would have busted down the door. I guess, in the end, it didn’t matter. She’s gone now. I saw Row crumple onto the floor when the officer took him aside. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I didn’t need to. The look on Row’s face—that look of complete devastation—was all too familiar to me.

George hasn’t let me out of his sight since he found me in the corner of that room. He held me a little too tight when we passed by a handcuffed Dr. Christiansen in the driveway of the Lilliput Project. All of the staff were taken into custody—everyone but Dr. Coxworth. He was nowhere to be found.

The officer in charge wasn’t sure what to do with me when they were done, but George insisted he would bring me home and give me a place to stay until everything was sorted out. After all, where else could they keep me?

George leads the way to the car, an old rustbucket. I dodge a few large snowflakes. Another turns bright red as I approach it, and I scream before realizing it’s just reflecting the color of the flashing police lights. George watches my freak out with concern, but says nothing as he opens the door for me.

“Just ten minutes,” he says. “Then we’ll be home.”

I manage a smile for him, even though the cold has paralyzed my face muscles. Everything seems frozen, like the world moves in slow motion but with the intensity of a wildfire. Fire and ice. That phrase makes sense to me now.

And the snow… How fitting. The white witch, the snow queen, has beaten me.

The vinyl car seat feels like ice against my thighs, so I pace along the armrest as George drives. I want to scrub the images of Daphne and the dead girl out of my head, but I can’t find anything to replace them. They have seared themselves into the fabric of my mind.

George pulls into the parking lot of an apartment complex and sits back, staring blankly ahead. We are both lost. The cold air seeps into the car, overcoming the heat, until George’s breath starts turning into evanescent clouds.

“Shall we go inside?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“I guess.”

He offers his hand. His palm is sweaty and smells of car leather, but I sit down in his protective grip anyway.

Inside the house, he flips on the kitchen light and sets me down on the table. The flat has the feel of a place time forgot, where devilish gnomes used every appliance, every piece of furniture day in and day out. It’s worn out and badly in need of redecorating.

“Tea?”

“Yes, please.”’

He sets the kettle on the stove, but it takes several tries for the gas to ignite. I didn’t even know you could have a gas stove.

“It’s propane,” he says as though reading my mind. “It’s the only cheap fuel we’ve got nowadays.” He pulls out a matchbook and lights the pillar candle at the center of the table before turning off the overhead light. Outside the window, it’s pure white. The snowfall is so thick I can’t even see the road.

George disappears into the next room while we wait for the water to boil. I can hear him rummaging around, and then he returns carrying a handful of doll clothes.

“I got these for you. I’m sorry they aren’t very nice, but I wanted you to have something to wear until they let you get your things. And this here is a sewing kit. I cut off the needle for you and sharpened it.” He places them into my arms and sits down again, his hands cupping his empty mug as though he’s forgotten the tea isn’t ready yet. “I set up a room for you, too. It’s in the living room, and there’s a curtain.”

“Thank you, George. For everything.”

We both stare at the flickering candle flame. The teapot’s whistle interrupts the silence and George pours the tea. I get a thimble-full from his mug once it’s finished brewing.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have done something a long time ago. I was afraid…oh, but that is so cowardly. Still, it’s the truth. I was afraid they would fire me and you would have no one there to look after you. I couldn’t put you in that position, not after everything that took place.”

“What
did
happen?”

“There were seven of you to begin with. Actually, let me start at the very beginning. After the European Republic formed and the Greek revolution failed, the part I lived in was very poor. We had no services, no sewage or even good drinking water. I was married then and I had a brand-new daughter, but the delivery was hard on my wife and she was very weak. My daughter was also not in good health because my wife’s nutrition was so bad while she was pregnant. They both became very sick. My wife died first from pneumonia, and my daughter died two weeks later.”

I’ve never heard this story before. “Oh, George, I’m so sorry.”

“After this happened, I had nothing left for me in Greece. The rest of my family died in the war. So when I received a job offer from the Lilliput Project several months later, I accepted. They had seen some of my published research on birds, and they took me on. I didn’t know the scope of the project, and I was under contract to keep their experiments a closely guarded secret.

“I never saw any of the Toms. They were born in England and taken to New Zealand after it happened.”

“After what happened?”

“There were seven of you. You were all born at once, and I’ve never seen anything so tiny. You were all kept together so you could get human contact from one another, but you were the only one with asthma and you came down with a bad respiratory infection a couple of months after you were born. Dr. Christiansen had you quarantined and told us no one could touch you. But you would lie there and scream and cry, and all I could think about was my own baby girl, so I would go in and hold you for hours when no one was around.

“You started to get better, but the other girls were declining and no one knew why. They were…listless. They stopped crying or trying to get anyone’s attention. Then they stopped eating, and they were too small to be fed by a tube. They were only six months old, and they’d never even rolled over.

“They died one by one, almost all within a week. Only one, number five, held out another month.”

I wipe the back of my hand across my eyes to chase away the tears. “But why did they die? And why am I the only one who made it?”

He bites his lip and looks down at the table. “Dr. Christiansen said they died due to mental conditions, but I think that was only partly correct. I think they died from a lack of affection. While they were always lying close to one another, no one ever held them. They never received the slightest bit of love. I will never forgive myself for that.”

“So…my asthma saved my life.”

“In a way. I suppose you could say that.”

“But only because of you.”

He sighs and nods, uncomfortable with taking credit for my continued existence.

“Why did the Toms survive then?”

“They very nearly didn’t, but after one of them died, I emailed their director—Dr. Lee—and told him about your survival and how you had been held every single day. So they implemented the practice at Lilliput II and sick Toms got better.”

I stare down into my tea, absorbing everything he’s told me. This isn’t what I’d imagined. I’d pictured horrible experiments, torture, etc. I never guessed the Thumbelinas died because they weren’t loved enough. I didn’t even know that was possible.

Yet, somehow this information isn’t a surprise. It seems to explain and validate this yearning I have that never quite goes away. I’ve almost gotten used to it. It was there even when I was talking to Jack every day, although it wasn’t quite as pronounced then. I crave human touch, and I rarely ever get it.

“Will you forgive me, pixie?”

“For what?”

“I could have done better, and if I had, you wouldn’t have grown up so lonely. None of this would have happened to you. You didn’t deserve this.”

“Well, Dr. Christiansen would still be just as wacko, so I’m not sure about that.”

“Maybe not. She changed after that. She’s never been a warm woman, but she got worse. I think she truly thought she was doing a good thing when she created all of you.” He shrugs. “Most people think they’re doing the right thing.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, are you through with your tea?”

I hand him the thimble.

“You should get some sleep. We have things to discuss tomorrow.”

“What kinds of things?”

“Many news agencies are asking for your story. You can right your reputation if you wish. But we’ll talk about it tomorrow after you’ve rested.”

He carries me to my makeshift bedroom, lights a tea candle near my bed, and carries his own light away with him. I wait until his door closes before changing into the cotton nightgown with massive Velcro strips that I have to leave open in order to make room for my wings. I’ll cut off the Velcro tomorrow and add a tie. The nightgown is too big, but it’s warm and comfortable, a welcome change from the evening gown I’ve been wearing all day.

My bed is a shoebox full of stacked washcloths, and I sink into it with a contented sigh. I remember what George said about righting my reputation. What would it take for that to happen? A pulse of excitement at the possibility of vindication wakes me a little, but not enough. I fall asleep with the candle flame still flickering in the darkness.

Chapter 35

“You’re on soon. Are you ready? Know your cue?” The assistant pulls out his earpiece and leans toward me.

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” I say. “You put my name up in huge letters on that screen and then I fly out.”

“Right. Good!” He gives me a thumbs up, totally oblivious to my sarcasm. “Break a wing!” He chuckles at his own joke.

Haha. Very funny. My wing finished healing a couple of days ago, and I can finally fly at full speed. George helped stitch me up, but it took longer to heal than usual because it was such a large tear. Then it took us a week to find a publicist who would work pro bono until my trust money is released. That won’t be for a while since Dr. Christiansen is now in custody and awaiting trial and my lawyer can’t get the money until a verdict is reached. Still, everyone considers it to be a slam-dunk. I’m still bitter she wasn’t arrested until she killed a “real” human on international television, but I’m happy she’s in a place where she can’t hurt anyone else.

Now I’m waiting in the wings of a British television studio, about to appear on
The Tani Ellis Show
to share my side of the story with the world. It was strange to have someone new fix my hair and makeup, but I’m pleased with the results. The hairdresser pulled out the world’s smallest flatiron and gave me the first smooth hair-do I’ve ever had. And my makeup isn’t over the top. Best of all, I’m wearing my own clothes—a sari patchwork skirt, leggings, and a black tank top. And scrunched socks. My feet are pretty happy that they’re no longer stuffed into plastic doll shoes.

My name flashes on the monitor in neon yellow letters: LENA CHRISTIANSEN. They’ve managed to misspell my name, and it throws me off a little bit. Also, I definitely want to see about changing my last name.

Deep breath. Adrenaline floods my veins as I burst through the curtain and wave at the audience. A cacophony of boos and cheers greets me, but I focus on my instructions.

Fly out to the dais, wait for the host to come and shake my hand. Tani is a pretty dark-skinned woman with blindingly white teeth. She smiles and her lips move as she makes a show of holding my hand, but I’m concentrating so hard on my next step I don’t hear what she says.