Shatter Point Read online

  “You know I only come to see you.”

  “You’re sweet, but I don’t think I’m your type.” She chuckled. “Besides, you live too dangerous a life with all of those fires and traffic accidents you’re saving people from. I would never sleep at night from the worry.”

  The hallway stretched out in solid white, as if a splash of color might disrupt the experiments. Research labs dotted both sides of the corridor, with Doctor Beck’s workspace larger than most.

  Jack hesitated at the doorway. “Run away with me! We can make a break for it.” The serious tone in his voice surprised him as he gently grabbed Brenda’s arm. For a moment, her smile melted away like snow on a hot day, and the wave of melancholy that replaced it shocked him like an electrical jolt. He recoiled as if the wave of emotion caused him pain.

  Her smile instantly returned. “Maybe next time, Jack. Come on, Doctor Beck is waiting for you.” She shoved him out of the snow-white hallway and into a world of color.

  Vibrant posters hung on the walls, many of them depicting lush Italian and English country sides. The largest showed Da Vinci’s drawing of a naked male human body—multiple arms and legs stretched out wide and enclosed in a grand circle.

  Darian sat behind a large metal desk with three flat-screen monitors and two keyboards perched on top, but he examined a color illustration of the brain in an old textbook. He stood and grinned as Jack leaned over the desk before him, closing the book on the desk as he shook Jack’s hand. “Good to see you.” He wore a wrinkled U2 t-shirt and jeans.

  Jack noticed dark circles under his eyes and stress lines on his forehead that hadn’t been there when he first met the doctor four months earlier.

  “Sorry I’m late, Doc.”

  Brenda followed him into the office. “Jack stopped to save a poor helpless child from a burning building.”

  “That was last time. This time I had to give CPR to one of my clients who had a heart attack.”

  Darian smiled. “Don’t worry about being late. You’re the only patient we’re seeing today. Tell me, how have you been feeling?”

  Jack shrugged. “I feel good, Doc. How about you? You need to escape and do some biking.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Jack pointed to his desk. “You’ve had the same six pictures on display since I started seeing you.”

  “That’s very perceptive of you, Jack. I haven’t biked outside in four months. The head trauma study is keeping me busy, but I still have Bessie.” He pointed to a well-used stationary bike in the corner of the lab, with worn pedals and a slightly tattered seat. “But enough about me. I see you still have sensitivity to light.” He gestured toward Jack’s sunglasses.

  Jack shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

  Darian frowned. “Obviously it’s bothering you a good deal. You’ve got to be honest with me to help with the study. Tell me about your hearing issues. I can see the ear plugs, so don’t deny it.”

  “Okay, you’ve got me.” Jack smiled sheepishly. “Lately everything sounds louder, more intense, as if the volume on the world has been turned up. I figure that’s a good thing.”

  Darian pointed to a couch on one end of the room. Jack sat on one end while Darian and Brenda settled onto chairs next to him. “And the headaches?”

  “They’re about the same. I get a quick flash of pain that goes away in a second or two. I can cope with them.” The headaches were becoming more frequent and intense, but he didn’t want to tell Darian. He didn’t want to come for more tests, and he didn’t want his family to know. Tom would want him admitted, and he had the sneaking suspicion that if he were admitted to the hospital he would never be released. He could deal with the headaches on his own.

  “How about we go through a series of ten math problems before we head to the imaging center?”

  “You know, math is not my thing. You should be asking Tom the questions. He’s got the brains in the family. They’re just numbers to me.”

  Darian lowered the clipboard. “How’s your brother doing? I understand ICS gave him an education contract.”

  “The Sheppard Group bought out the contract. Tom’s going to be a star!”

  “That sounds great. Have you met Charles Sheppard? What do you think of him?” Darian locked his eyes on him.

  “Tom’s met him a couple of times, says he’s a straight shooter, someone who seems to care about ordinary people. Why do you ask?”

  “The Sheppard Group is a part owner in this facility. I was just wondering. I’ve never met him.” Darian raised the clipboard. “Give me the first number that comes to your mind. Remember, it doesn’t matter if it’s correct. I just want the first number that pops into your mind.”

  Jack nodded and Darian began. “3,657 multiplied by 876....” The questions became progressively more difficult. Darian checked off the responses as Jack correctly answered each one.

  After the last question, Jack said, “I told you I’m not good at math. Did I come close to any of them?”

  “It’s not important whether you got them right or wrong. I just need your first impression.”

  Darian smiled and patted him on the knee, but Jack noticed that his shoulders sagged and worry crept into his eyes like a shadow from a candle. He assumed he had answered them all wrong.

  A searing pain burned through his head—another headache. It lasted only a few seconds, but he got the unmistakable image of a barking golden lab. “Do you have a dog, Doc?”

  He looked up from his notes. “No.”

  ***

  Darian glanced at the small refrigerator tucked away in the corner of his lab. He kept one syringe of EBF-202 hidden in the back. When they’d first treated Jack, he considered injecting himself as well. If he increased his own intelligence, maybe he could discover the key to reigning in the drug. Maybe he could save Jack. Maybe he could be useful.

  Maybe, maybe, maybe....

  Treating himself would have been too reckless. He had no idea how the drug would affect him, and he remained Jack’s best chance at survival. If Jack died though, he would have no choice but to inject himself, because Wickersham would find another patient to test EBF-202 on.

  He couldn’t go through this again. He couldn’t fail again. He couldn’t be responsible for someone else dying. If EBF-202 increased his chances of finding a cure, he would take that bet with his life. This was his responsibility, his mess to cleanup.

  He turned on music from his phone and The Who’s “Tommy” flooded the workspace. Sometimes rock inspired him—the driving beat, the chords, the emotions behind the music—but this time, the music fell flat as he studied the new images of Jack’s brain.

  It had changed so substantially that if he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that it was a different brain altogether. The new video showed a denser brain with more developed creases and wrinkles in all four lobes, increased brain branching and complex linking between brain cells, and substantially more activity during even the simplest questioning.

  Frustrated, he paced the lab. He had spent the past four months trying to develop an inhibitor for EBF-202, hoping to stop it before Jack’s brain developed so much it killed him. If he couldn’t stop the drug somehow, it would prove fatal to anyone injected with it, rendering it worse than useless.

  The growth rate of Jack’s brain had slowed, but it still progressed steadily. Unsure how much longer Jack had, Darian feared time was running out. Only one canine test subject still lived—Lassie, the golden lab. Her body had unexpectedly rejected the drug three months ago. She now lived as the key, but Darian couldn’t unlock the mystery. He groaned, jumped on the stationary bike, and began pedaling. He’d been studying the dog’s blood for three months now, and nothing stood out as unique or unusual.

  As sweat trickled down his face, he looked back at the refrigerator that held the extra dose of EBF-202. Lassie’s blood contained the secret. Could he find the key before time ran out for both of them?

  Vanessa studied Darian from
the doorway as he pedaled hard on the stationary bike, sweat soaking his shirt. He remained a mystery—an exciting, brilliant, funny, slightly dangerous mystery.

  Usually, he attracted fun like screens attract dust. At least, he was like that when they had first started dating. On their second date, they ended up at the boathouse in Central Pepsi Park, where they borrowed masks from departing revelers, joined a costume party, and stayed until the sun came up. On their fourth date, they stumbled upon an underground rock bar and spent the night.

  The list continued, but had trailed off dramatically the last few months. He worried about Jack, but she wanted the fun Darian back.

  She silently swerved around a chair, slid behind him, and whispered an inch from his ear, “Hello, Doctor Beck.”

  He jumped and almost bolted off the bike. “How did you sneak in?”

  She chuckled. “I borrowed a master card key from my father.” She dangled her lab coat in her hand. The first three buttons of her white shirt were unbuttoned and her dark blue shorts ended mid-thigh, the top snap undone. She swayed her hips and played with the open collar of her shirt. The room filled with the sweet scent of her perfume. She knew how that fragrance drove him wild.

  “You could have killed me.” He shut off the music and slowed his pace on the bike. “I might be forced to report you to your father. Breaking into a lab is serious business.” He rolled his eyes and scowled in an exaggerated show of indignation.

  “That would be awkward, Doctor Beck. I’d hate to tell Daddy how you’ve taken advantage of his little girl.” She batted her eyes and pursed her lips.

  He smiled. “I’d be happy to talk to your father and tell him all about us. We’ll have to do it sometime soon anyway.”

  “Not now. He might kill you, and it would be a shame if you died. I have more important things planned for you,” she said, her voice husky.

  He stopped pedaling.

  She nibbled his ear and blew hot air against his neck. “It’s already past midnight. I think you should take me home.” She shot him her best pouting face, full red lips moist and inviting.

  “I thought you had left for the day.” He raked a hand through his shaggy hair. “I’d love to go with you, but I’ve got more work to finish tonight before I trudge home.”

  “You work too hard. You need to have more fun.” She crossed her arms and frowned at him as if she were the parent and he a mischievous boy. “What happened to the guy who stayed out all night?”

  Darian grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Let’s see,” teased Vanessa. “I’ve heard the stories—the illegal gambling houses, mansions filled with movie stars, yachts with the rich and famous. Even an unexpected trip to the Cayman Islands.”

  “All exaggerations. I’m really a homebody. I never go out.”

  “What about the time you ended up in the Knicks’ locker room at Madison Square Garden with two cheerleaders?”

  “Well, that one is true, but in my defense, I have no memory of how I ended up there.” He smiled sheepishly.

  “Come on, Doctor Beck, how about we go for a stroll?” She stroked the handlebars on his stationary bike seductively.

  Darian groaned.

  She could tell that he fought with himself. She imagined the war waging in his mind, but his face narrowed. She had lost this time.

  “I can’t tonight. I have a date with the couch.” He jumped from the bike.

  “I’m beginning to become jealous of Bessie.” Vanessa waved her hand at the empty office. “George has gone for the day. He’s probably home with his wife and two kids.”

  “George is a morning guy. He’ll be in by the time the sun comes up.” He shrugged.

  “I bet he starts every day knowing he’s going to find a breakthrough.” Everyone in the research facility was familiar with George’s sunny disposition.

  “Yes, it’s very annoying.” He frowned and pointed to the video screens on his desk. “The answer is here somewhere. I just need to find it.”

  “Why are you studying two different brains? The one on the left seems normal while the one on the right is clearly extraordinary.”

  “That’s the problem. Both scans come from Jack. The left one is when we first treated him with EBF-202, and the right is from earlier today. He answered all the advanced math questions correctly during today’s exam. When I extrapolate that sampling to an IQ, it zooms off the charts.”

  “But that’s what’s supposed to happen, right? Your drug should improve intelligence?”

  “Yes, but Jack’s brain is developing so extensively, it’s causing pressure against the skull that I can’t stop. Plus his hearing and sensitivity to light have increased. That’s unexpected, and if those changes could happen, who knows what else is happening to him.”

  He twisted his face angrily as he raked his hand through his hair. “This is all my fault. I’d change places with him if I could.”

  “But you can’t, and this isn’t all your fault. We’ve been through this dozens of times. You can only do your best for him. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I’ve got to figure this out.” Darian started walking her toward the door. “This is my responsibility, although you could tell me what you’re working on. Your team has taken over the entire southern end of the facility. Security is as tight as Fort Knox.”

  “You sound jealous, Doctor Beck. You know Project Qing is highly confidential.” She smiled seductively and lifted her hand to her open mouth. “Whoops, I wasn’t supposed to tell you the name. I might let something else slip if you come home with me.”

  Darian shook his head.

  “It was worth one last shot, but I have something planned for you Friday night. It’s going to be special. You’ll have no excuses.” She turned and strolled out of the lab, letting her hand linger on the doorframe for a moment before she left.

  “Project Qing,” Darian muttered to himself. “That name sounds oddly familiar. Where have I heard it before?”

  ***

  Cooper twirled a fine Swiss fountain pen in his hand with one crisp piece of cotton stationary stretched out before him. He glanced at the latest surveillance photographs of Maggie on his computer screen and smiled. She would be his. After all these years, she would finally be his.

  He had started to write her a letter, but he paused, his imagination whirling with details of a meeting he would soon have with her. It was a lifetime since he had spoken with her last. She will be so pleased to see me, to finally realize the happiness only I can grant her.

  He’d last seen her in person at her wedding, where he watched her from the back pew and left before the service ended. She looked happy at the altar, but he knew she was miserable inside. How could she be anything else—settling for a loser when she could have had him?

  It was all so idiotic, so stupid of her to waste those years, but he would give her one more chance at happiness.

  Snap! He pulled himself from the daydream and glanced down at the paper. It had a jagged rip down the center, and he’d snapped the pen cleanly in half.

  Maggie squinted against the sun’s bright glare as she hustled from the office building where she worked to the park across the street.

  Her best friend, Susan, complained as she huffed from just behind her. “I hate August. It’s just not human out here.” A familiar refrain—she also hated parts of April, all of May, June, July, and most of September.

  “Come on, let’s grab our bench!” Maggie scooted through the security gate and into the small park toward her favorite spot. Entry to the park was limited to employees of corporate sponsors, one of which was the law firm where they worked.

  Maggie reached the bench first.

  Susan ran more than a few steps behind. Her pretty, heart-shaped face had already turned beet red from the heat and the quick jaunt. “Why don’t we eat lunch inside during the summer?” She settled onto the bench and sighed heavily.

  Only four other people braved the aft
ernoon heat, scattered in pairs on far-flung benches.

  “You can eat inside anytime you like. I need to see the sun for a few minutes each day. Otherwise I become claustrophobic.” Maggie opened her lunch bag containing the usual—a sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of Canadian water. Their favorite bench offered a partial view of Madison Avenue on one side and a small reflecting pool on the other. Susan liked to people-watch on the Avenue, while Maggie usually spent her time looking at the water. None of the other benches worked as well for the pair.

  “I hear you’ve pulled Mr. Grabby Hands tonight for overtime,” Maggie said.

  Susan groaned and shrugged. “What can I do? We really need the money.”

  “Jane and I are both working tonight, so we’ll have to implement operation Chastity Belt,” Maggie explained. “It’s never safe to be alone with Mr. Grabby Hands. If he needs to speak to you in his office, call one of us. We’ll alternate and make up an excuse to be with you. And don’t be fooled by an unexpected trip to the copy center on the fifth floor. He grabbed Darlene in there between a couple of three dimensional laser printers the other night.”

  Susan frowned. “I’ve been told that it might be a late one.” She had brought a small container of leftover pasta for lunch, and sipped from a can of cheap domestic beer, which was less expensive than Canadian water and safer to drink than tap water.

  “You know our motto.” Maggie smiled. “We leave no girl behind. We’ll share a transport home. I’ve brought my sketchpad just in case we’re super late and I finish early.” Maggie had organized a dozen women at the firm into a vigilante group of sorts for their mutual protection against partners like Hawkins, a.k.a. Mr. Grabby Hands, but operation Chastity Belt was not foolproof. The winter holiday party was her greatest challenge—three years running and she’d had no casualties.

  “Thanks.” Relief flooded Susan’s face as her worry lines smoothed. “Are you taking tomorrow off?”

  “Yes. I call it my Solitary Day. Every year, I take one day off in August to be alone.” Maggie faced the reflecting pool, lips turned down and eyes sad as she contemplated the true purpose of Solitary Day. She would say nothing about that to Susan. She would never burden her with it.