Deadly Design - Emarsan Page 0,93

little girl would have died, but knowing before her birth that the child’s kidneys were deformed, Mr. Harrison contacted me. Another doctor had read about my work growing organs from stem cells. We were able to harvest the needed cells from the um-bilical cord, and I grew the child a new kidney. Since the cells came from her cord blood, there was no concern of rejection.

And that little girl started kindergarten a month ago.”

Dr. Bartholomew gives herself a satisfied smile and a mental pat on the back.

“You’re wondering how this pertains to you.” She comes to me and wraps her thin, cool fingers around my hands. “I’ve helped two congressmen, a governor, and the family member of a president. My goal is to help all people, regardless of their socioeconomic status, but helping rich, powerful, influential people is what makes my work possible. What I’m trying to tell 2 7 4

Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.

FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE

you is that I have money behind me. I have access to the finest scientists and physicians. If anyone can cure you, if anyone can give you your life back, it’s me.” She squeezes my hands. “You just have to trust me. Can you do that? Can you be astronom-ically brave?”

I hate that she resembles her brother. The resemblance isn’t great, especially since in my mental image of him, he was near death. But their eyes are so similar, so dark and small. Still, there is something different in hers—a spark of hope. I have to trust her. I nod.

She lets go of my hand and starts for the door. “I’ll bring your family in to . . .” She starts to say that my family will come in to tell me good-bye, but she thinks better of it. “I’ll bring your family in to wish you well.”

She leaves. Minutes later Mom, Dad, and Cami step into the room, or try to. It’s hard. The air itself acts like a wall they’re pressing against, because they don’t want to come in. They don’t want to say good-bye.

Dad’s arm is wrapped around Mom’s waist. He’s holding her up, keeping her from collapsing on the cold, tile floor. Her eyes aren’t bloodshot with tears. That will come later, but not much later. She’s trying to hold it together for my sake, just like I’m trying to hold it together for theirs. Cami is standing behind them, and while I know she’s trying to be strong too, she hasn’t been quite as successful. Her eyes are puffy and red, and she dabs at them with the sleeve of her sweater.

I can’t take it.

2 7 5

Copyright © 2015 by Debra Dockter.

FOR REVIEWING PURPOSES ONLY--NOT FOR SALE

“Let’s pretend I’m getting my tonsils out,” I say. “And I have really, really big tonsils, so it’s going to take a while. Just make sure there’s plenty of ice cream when I get home.” My voice threatens to crack, but I won’t let it. I won’t. I can’t. Not when I look at my parents and see how thin they are. Not physically, but emotionally. I can see right through them, and it’s not fair.

No parent should have to lose so many children. But they’re not going to lose me. At least, I won’t let them believe that, not today. I wish this could have been figured out sooner. If Dr.

Mueller/Sharp/Bartholomew/psychobastard had died sooner, maybe his sister could have frozen all of us. There could be a whole wing of frozen Mueller babies, and somewhere in the part of our minds that can’t be stilled by science, we’d exist together. I could introduce Connor to James and Amber.

We could listen to Triagon play Mozart, and Connor and I could . . . We could be together without being dead.

I rush toward my mom and put my arms around her, trying to speed things up, like I’m at camp and her going all gushy is going to spoil my reputation with the other kids. Dad throws his arms around both of us, and we stand there for too long.

We are giants holding up a massive weight. We are that ancient turtle balancing the Earth on the back of its shattering shell.

The weight is too much. It will crush us if we don’t let go, and so we do.

“Tonsils, Mom. It’s just my tonsils.” But this time my voice does crack. I look past my mom at Cami. She comes toward me, and I can hear her jagged breaths. She