The House of the Scorpion (15 page)

M
att woke up feeling gritty and hot. The candle in front of the Virgin had burned out, leaving a waxy smell that the curtains held in. He opened the window, wincing at the sudden invasion of sunlight. It was late morning. Celia had already gone to work.

Rubbing his eyes, Matt saw María's present on a shelf, and the birthday party came back with hideous clearness. He knew he had to make things up to her, but he also knew she needed time to cool down. If he approached her now, she'd only slam the door in his face.

Matt dressed in cool clothes and found leftover pizza for breakfast. The apartment was empty, the walled garden deserted except for birds. He went out and watered the vegetables.

The day after a birthday party was always a letdown. The power Matt enjoyed as El Patrón's clone vanished. The servants went back to ignoring him. The Alacráns treated him like something Furball had coughed up on the carpet.

The hours dragged on. Matt practiced on his guitar, a skill he was developing without Mr. Ortega's help. The music master was unable to keep his hands on the instrument and thus was unable to detect mistakes. After a while Matt switched to reading Tam Lin's present. The bodyguard was fond of nature books, although he read them at a painfully slow rate. Matt already had books on wildlife, camping, map reading, and survival that Tam Lin fully expected him to study. Tam Lin drilled him when they went on expeditions in the Ajo Mountains.

All Matt's activities were supposed to be risk free. Thus, he was allowed to ride only Safe Horses, and he could swim only if two lifeguards were present. He could climb ropes only if there was a mountain of mattresses underneath. Any bruise or cut was treated with extreme alarm.

But once a week Tam Lin took Matt on educational field trips. The trips were disguised as visits to the Alacráns' nuclear power plant or the opium processing plant—a stinking, clanking horror even an eejit would find unbearable. Halfway there Tam Lin would turn the horses toward the hills.

Matt lived for these expeditions. El Patrón would have had a heart attack if he'd known how many cliffs Matt climbed and how many rattlesnakes he teased out of the rocks. But they made Matt feel strong and free.

“May I come in?” said a faint, uncertain voice. Matt jumped. He'd been daydreaming. He heard the person enter the living room. “It's . . . Felicia,” said Felicia hesitantly, as though she weren't quite sure of her identity.

This is completely weird
, Matt thought. Felicia had never shown the slightest interest in him. “What do you want?” he asked.

“I . . . thought I might . . . visit.” Felicia's eyes looked heavy,
like she might fall asleep at any moment. A vague odor of cinnamon hung around her.

“Why?” Matt knew he was being rude, but when had the Alacráns been anything else to him? Besides, there was something creepy about the way Felicia swayed back and forth.

“May I . . . sit?”

Matt pulled a chair over to her, since it didn't look like she'd make it by herself. He tried to help her, but she pushed him away.

Of course. He was a clone. He wasn't supposed to touch humans. Felicia half fell into the chair, and they stared at each other for a moment. “You're a guh-guh-good musician,” Felicia stammered, as though it hurt her to admit it.

“How do you know?” Matt couldn't remember ever playing when she was around.

“Everyone . . . says so. It's such a surprise. El Patrón doesn't have a—have a . . . musical bone in his body.”

“He enjoys listening,” Matt said. He didn't like to hear El Patrón criticized.

“I know. He used to listen to me.”

Matt felt uneasy. He'd probably taken away what little attention Felicia got from other people.

“I was a great concert pianist once,” she said.

“I've heard you play.”

“You have?” Felicia's eyes widened. “Oh. The music room. I was much better . . . before I had my—my . . . ”

“Nervous breakdown,” said Matt. Her hesitant speech was getting on his nerves.

“But that isn't why . . . I came. I want to—to . . . ”

Matt waited impatiently.

“Help you,” finished Felicia. There was another long pause
as Matt wondered what kind of help she thought he needed. “You upset María. She cried all night.”

Matt felt uncomfortable. What did Felicia have to do with this?

“She wants to . . . see you.”

“Okay,” said Matt.

“But she . . . Don't you see? Her father won't let her come here. It's up to you.”

“What should I do?”

“Go to her,” cried Felicia with more energy than Matt had expected. “Go
now.
” The outburst seemed to exhaust her. Her head drooped and she closed her eyes. “You wouldn't have something . . . to drink?” she whispered.

“Celia doesn't keep alcohol,” said Matt. “Should I call one of the maids?” he said.

“Never mind.” Felicia sighed, rousing herself enough to stand. “María's waiting at the hospital. It's . . . important.” With that, Felicia made her way to the door and drifted into the hallway like a cinnamon-scented ghost.

•   •   •

The hospital wasn't a place Matt went willingly. Set apart from the rest of the buildings, it was surrounded by a wasteland of sand and low, flat bullhead vines. The vines protected their turf with the meanest, nastiest thorns ever and could even stab through shoes.

Matt picked his way carefully through the wasteland. Heat radiated off the ground, making the gray, windowless building shimmer. The hospital was like a prison with a strange, alarming smell inside that permeated everything. Matt was dragged there twice a year to undergo painful and humiliating tests.

He sat on the front steps and inspected his sandals for bull-heads. María was probably in the waiting room. It wasn't too
bad there, with chairs and magazines and a cold-drink machine. Sweat ran down Matt's face and stuck his shirt to his chest. He opened the door.

“I don't see why I should talk to you at all,” said María. She was sitting in one of the chairs with a magazine open on her lap. Her eyes looked puffy.

“It was your idea.” Matt bit his tongue. He wanted to make up with her, not pick a fight. “I mean, it was a good idea.”

“You're the one who invited me,” said María. “Why couldn't you find somewhere nice? This place is creepy.”

Matt's alarm system went on at once. “I didn't invite you. Wait!” he cried as María started to get up. “I do want to see you. I guess—I guess—I was a pig at the birthday party.”

“You
guess?
” María said scornfully.

“Okay, I was. But you didn't have to take back the present.”

“Of course I did. A present's no good if it's given in anger.”

Matt stopped his first reply before it could get out. “It's the nicest gift I ever got.”

“Oh, sure! Nicer than that weenie sports car El Patrón gave you!”

Matt sat down next to her. She moved away as far as she could. “I really like how you wrapped the candy.”

“It took me a long time to decide which papers to use.” María's voice trembled. “You'll only wad them up and throw them away.”

“No, I won't,” promised Matt. “I'll spread them out carefully and keep them for always.”

María said nothing. She stared down at her hands. Matt edged closer. The truth was, he liked it when she kissed him, even if she kissed Furball sixty times as often. He'd never kissed her back, but he might try it now, to make up.

“Good. You're both here.”

Matt recoiled. Tom stood in the doorway. “How did you find us?” Matt snarled.

“Of course he knew where we were. You told him to bring me here,” María said.

“No kidding,” said Matt. The pieces were falling into place now. Tom had pretended to carry a message to María, and Felicia had done the same with Matt. They had to be working together. Matt had never thought of Felicia as dangerous, but he didn't really know her.

“I thought you might like to see something,” Tom said. His face was open and friendly, and his blue eyes shone with innocence. Matt wanted to roll him in the bullheads.

“Here?” said María doubtfully.

“It's like Halloween, only better. It's the ugliest, gooshiest thing you ever saw, and I bet both of you wet your pants,” Tom said.

“I've done things that would make your eyes drop out,” María sneered. “Tam Lin showed me how to pick up scorpions, and he let a tarantula walk up my arm.”

Matt was surprised at María's daring. Tam Lin had shown him the same things, and Matt had almost done what Tom described.

“This is worse,” Tom said. “Remember that Halloween when you thought the
chupacabras
was outside and Matt put chicken guts in your bed?”

“I did not! It was you!” cried Matt.

“You put your hand right in it,” said Tom, ignoring Matt, “and screamed your head off.”

“That was so
evil
,” María said.

“
I
didn't do it!” protested Matt.

“Well, this is worse,” gloated Tom. “I don't know if you have the—pardon the expression—guts for it.”

“She doesn't,” said Matt.

“Don't tell me what to do!” María got a mulish look in her eyes and Matt's heart sank. He knew Tom was up to something foul, but he hadn't figured out what it was yet.

“Come on. He's only trying to start trouble.” Matt tried to grab María's hand, but she yanked her arm away.

“Listen.” Tom opened the door leading from the waiting room to the rest of the hospital. Matt's stomach hit rock bottom. He had bad memories of some of those rooms.

Tom's face glowed with joy. It was then, Matt had discovered, he was most dangerous. As Tam Lin said, if you didn't know Tom well, you'd think he was an angel bringing you the keys to the pearly gates.

In the distance they heard a mewling sound. It went on for a moment, stopped, and began again.

“Is that a cat?” said María.

If it is, it isn't yowling for milk
, Matt thought. There was a level of terror and despair in that sound that made the hair stand up on his neck. This time he did grab María's hand.

“They're doing experiments on cats!” María cried suddenly. “Oh, please! You've got to help me rescue them!”

“We'd better ask permission first,” said Matt. He was deeply unwilling to go beyond that door.

“No one's
going
to give us permission,” María stormed. “Don't you see? Adults don't see anything wrong with those experiments. We have to take the cats away—Dada will help me—and the doctors won't even know where they've gone.”

“They'll only get more.” Matt felt cold as he listened to the sound going on and on.

“That's the dodge people always use! Don't help anyone. They'll only find more Illegals to enslave or poor people to starve or—or cats to torture.” María was working herself into a state. Matt despaired of getting her to listen to reason.

“Look, we should ask your dada first—” he began.

“I won't listen to that cat suffer one more instant! Are you with me or not? If not, I'm going by myself!”

“I'll go with you,” said Tom.

That decided Matt. There was no way he was letting Tom take María by herself to see whatever horror he had stashed away.

María strode down the hall, but she slowed the closer they got to the cries. Matt still held her hand. It was cold and sweaty, or maybe his hand was. The sound wasn't exactly like a cat. It wasn't like anything Matt had heard before, but there was no mistaking the anguish in it. Sometimes it rose almost to a shriek and then faded, as though whatever was making the noise was exhausted.

They arrived at the door. It was closed, and cravenly, Matt hoped it was locked.

It wasn't.

Tom threw it open. Matt could hardly register what lay on the bed before them. It rolled its eyes and thrashed helplessly in the straps that restrained it. Its mouth opened in a horrible O when it saw the children, and it screamed louder than Matt thought possible. It screamed until it ran out of air, then it wheezed until it didn't have the strength to do that anymore, and then it lay there panting and gasping.

“It's a boy,” whispered María.

It was. Only at first Matt thought it was some kind of beast, so alien and terrible was its face. It had doughy, unhealthy skin and red hair that stuck up in bristles. It seemed never to have been in the sun, and its hands were twisted like claws above the
straps that held it down. It was dressed in green hospital pajamas, but these had been befouled by its terror. Worst of all was the terrible energy that rolled through the trapped body. The creature never stopped moving. It was as though invisible snakes were rippling beneath the skin and forcing its arms and legs to move in a ceaseless bid for freedom.

“It's not a boy,” Tom said scornfully. “It's a clone.”

Matt felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. He'd never seen another clone. He'd only felt the weight of hatred humans had for such things. He hadn't understood it because, after all, clones were like dogs and cats, and humans loved them. If he'd thought about it at all, he had assumed he was a pet, only a very intelligent one.

Matt became aware that María no longer held his hand. She'd shrunk against Tom, and he had his arm around her. The creature—clone—had regained its energy and was screaming again. Something about the children terrified it, or perhaps it was terrified all the time. Its tongue protruded from its mouth and drooled saliva down its chin.

“Whose—?” whispered María.