Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Everly says cheerfully from the front of the lab classroom. “Dr. Wu is still on a break, so I will be taking over her class today.”
It’s been a week since our last lab session, where Dr. Wu ran out crying, and it’s gone by in a flash. After that breakfast with Kincaid on his boat, I’ve felt a lot closer to him, but he’s been elusive outside of the classroom. I don’t feel brave enough to go to his boat and say hello, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been roaming the grounds, hoping we’d bump into each other, or looking out my window at night, hoping to catch him on bear patrol. Staring at him during class just hasn’t been enough, though when he does meet my gaze on occasion and holds it, the electricity is enough to fuel me for the rest of the day.
It’s a little like lovesickness. I’m not in love with Kincaid, but there is a flickering there, buried deep inside, that wants to spark. It wants to become a fire to ravage me whole. I am prone to falling fast and hard and then either falling out of love when I’ve grown bored or tossed to the side because they’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I am too much , and that’s something I can’t hide forever. I know that given half the chance, I could fall hard for Kincaid too, but one would think I’d learn from my mistakes, especially so soon after I’ve made them.
So while I’ve wanted to see him, talk to him privately, it’s for the best that I haven’t.
It’s dangerous when you get what you want.
The weather has also helped the time blur. It’s been so foggy that some days, you can’t see more than a few feet in front of you. Because of that, all the days just sort of roll into one when you don’t see the sun.
Today is no exception. All the lights inside the lab are blazing because the fog envelops the building, the tinted windows making it look like twilight.
I turn my attention back to Everly. She looks gorgeous, as usual, even in her lab coat. Though I now realize she’s wearing it for appearances since this isn’t the real lab.
She flicks her long blonde hair off her shoulder with graceful fingers and starts talking about how hyphae and fungi can possess a form of consciousness and how Madrona has sharpened their study on finding out if this use of consciousness can be helpful in tailoring specific medications using Amanita excandesco .
“The bigger question we are looking at right now,” she says, pacing back and forth, “is if individual hyphae are conscious, what happens when an interconnected colony of thousands of these individual cells comes together? Does it become a hive mind, for lack of a better word? Or do they retain their independence? If we can separate the hyphae, can we ask them to do individual things, targeting different neurons?”
Munawar taps me on the shoulder, and I turn in my seat to face him. “This is way more interesting than any of the lectures Nick gives us,” he whispers. He’s wearing his shirt of the day. This one says M.I.L.F. , with the subtitle underneath Man, I Love Fungi.
“I feel like I’ve learned more in the last ten minutes than I have the last few weeks.” His eyes dance. “Of course, Professor Kincaid is compelling too, am I right?”
I turn back around and roll my eyes. I don’t like that smug look on his face and what he’s insinuating.
Everly talks for a little longer and then passes out some slides with some organic matter for us to use in our microscopes. I can’t help but think about what Clayton said, that this is busywork. Still, the organic matter turns out to be hyphae from excandesco itself, so it’s nice to get a closer look at the infamous fungus.
Eventually, the hour is over, and Everly dismisses us. I’m walking toward the door with Lauren, Rav, and Munawar when Everly says, “Sydney, can I have a word with you?”
“Ooooh,” Munawar teases. “Someone is in trouble.”
“She’s not,” Everly says with a smile. “But you will be if you don’t scoot along.” She makes a shooing motion with her elegant fingers.
The look on his face is priceless before he practically runs out of the room, Lauren laughing after him.
I stare at her expectantly. She said I’m not in trouble, and yet my palms feel clammy. I want Everly to like me, but at the same time, even though she’s been nothing but understanding and kind, she makes me nervous.
“What can I do you for?” I joke in a bumpkin accent.
“Just wanted to see how you’re feeling,” she says. “How are your arms? Any vaccine side effects?”
I’ve had to get two more rabies shots since the initial one, rotating arms as we go. “Both are sore now.”
She nods. “We’re almost done.” Her eyes coast over my body and face, appraising me. “And how are you mentally? I feel I need to check in.”
“You don’t trust Kincaid to do that?”
Her smile is tight in response. “Wes is not here as a friend. But I am. I worry about you, Syd, my star pupil.” She reaches out and ruffles the top of my head like I’m a dog.
I laugh awkwardly, moving my head out of the way. I smooth down my hair, trying not to show my annoyance. “Yeah, right, star pupil. We haven’t even had any testing done yet.”
“You know we don’t test you here. If you made it this far, you’ve passed. All this time is for you to concentrate on your capstone project.” At the mention of my capstone, my stomach turns. She gives me a sympathetic look. “But of course, you don’t have to do one anymore, do you? So tell me, Syd, what are your plans, then, while you’re here? I’m letting you stay, but you still need a focus, a purpose. You need to contribute something to Madrona.”
“My existence isn’t enough?” I joke.
“You would think,” she says dryly. “No, you’re too brilliant to hold anything back from us.”
I really wish she would stop saying that because I know I’m not. I fold my arms across my chest. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Are you ever not honest?” she says with a wink.
“If I’m so brilliant, if everyone here is brilliant, then why are we doing basic busywork in the lab? Why not integrate us into the real lab and see how Madrona really works? You made us sign NDAs. If you’re worried we might see something we’re not supposed to?—”
“Like what?” she interrupts.
“I don’t know. I have no idea. You keep talking about the research and the testing you’ve done in trials and all the amazing things that your fungus can do, but we haven’t seen it.”
“These things take time,” she says calmly. “I like to lay groundwork first.”
“So I’m right, then. This isn’t the real lab.”
She looks around. “Oh, we do work here,” she says before her gaze returns to me, a sly look in her green eyes. “But you are right. This isn’t the main lab. They’re downstairs.”
“There’s a downstairs?” I ask, surprised. “There’s more than one?”
“Would you like to see?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Come, then,” she says as she walks to the other end of the room toward that other door. “But promise me you won’t tell anyone. I don’t want the other students to think you’re getting preferential treatment.”
“I swear,” I say, making the sign of the cross over my heart. I know my Catholic grandmother will be watching me closely to make sure I don’t break it.
She takes out her key card from her lanyard and passes it over the door. It unlocks with a click, and she pulls it open to reveal a dark staircase. She steps inside, and motion detector lights flick on.
I follow her down the narrow stairs, my pulse quickening with excitement. Finally, I’m going to see where the real magic happens.
At the bottom of the stairs are two doors across from each other. I’m trying to map it out in my head with the shape and size of the building above, and it seems both rooms must continue underground beyond the learning lab’s foundation. I have to wonder if there’s a tunnel system of sorts.
She swipes her card at the door on the right and steps in, flicking on the lights beside her. This lab is twice the size as the one upstairs, filled with the hum of machines, many of which I’ve never seen before.
“I thought the lab was running all the time,” I tell her, surprised that it’s empty.
“It is,” she says. “The technicians are in the testing lab at the moment, across the hall. I would take you in there, but they aren’t to be disturbed.”
“Technicians,” I say slowly. “Like Dr. Carvalho?”
“Yes.”
“Who are the other technicians?” I ask because I have yet to see anyone on the compound that I haven’t recognized. “Dr. Wu?”
“Part-time workers,” she says. “They spend most of their time in the lab and live in the west lodge. That’s probably why you haven’t seen them,” she adds, as if reading my mind.
“Ah,” I say, glancing around the lab again.
“Can you imagine yourself working here?” she asks idly.
Weeks ago, I would have said yes with no hesitation. Now, I have to think about it. “I guess it depends what I would be doing.”
“Whatever it is you want,” she says. “If you play your cards right, there might be a job for you in the end. Imagine how that would solve all your problems. You’d live here, be paid very well, and you’d be ushering in groundbreaking research. You would leave your mark on the world for generations to come.”
Yes. All this research we still don’t know much about, and by design.
“How close are you to finding a cure for Alzheimer’s?” I ask her.
Her brows rise. “Very close. We have practically found the cure. It just needs perfecting before we can open up the trials.”
“But I thought you were already doing clinical trials.”
“Closed clinical trials,” she says. “We have been testing on animals.”
I make a face. “But Kincaid said…”
Her posture stiffens. “Wes said what?” she asks in a clipped voice.
“That he was originally your neurosurgeon.”
Her eyes narrow for a second before her expression relaxes. “He was. He still is, though Michael has taken over his role. Wes cares very much about saving people, whichever way he can do it.”
Ah, so Michael happens to be a neurosurgeon as well. I would not let that man anywhere near my brain.
“So the studies have only been done on animals?”
“Not quite,” she says.
Her secrecy is starting to grate on me.
“You know, the reason I wanted to study here was because of what your interviews and press releases had promised. Alzheimer’s is dear to my heart—that’s the whole reason I’m here. My grandmother died from it.”
“I know.” She nods, her eyes soft. “Sometimes I forget you…”
She trails off.
“Forget I what?”
“Forget that you’ve been through so much.” She sighs, shaking her head in sympathy. “Too much. It’s too much for one person, Syd.”
Her attention is making me uneasy. “I turned out fine,” I joke.
She doesn’t laugh though. Her eyes narrow as she stares at me. “I wouldn’t say that.”
I bristle, feeling the sting.
“I turned out okay,” I clarify.
Her lips purse as she considers that, her demeanor changing. “Yeah. You turned out okay. Considering, you know. Everything. You could be better though.” She reaches out with her fawn-colored gel nails and brushes a strand of hair off my face. “Maybe you just need more time. Need to grow older. Need to learn. I forget that you’re still just a grad student.”
Just a grad student?
“Technically, not anymore,” I mutter.
“Of course. I tell you what,” she says after a moment. “You continue to do well and prove yourself, and then I’ll let you in on the ground floor. Find your purpose at Madrona. Find something that excites you. Figure out how to be useful. Use that hyperfocus of yours and narrow in on something worthwhile. Surprise me.”
Hyperfocus. That reminds me I haven’t taken my Adderall for at least ten days now.
“If I prove myself, then will you actually let me in, actually let me see what you’re doing here?”
“I promise,” she says, then reaches over and flicks off the lights, plunging us into darkness except for the green and blue glowing lights of the various machines.
This time, I’m on my stomach.
Completely naked, my breasts pressed against the table in Kincaid’s boat.
My hands are fastened together behind my back. I can tell it’s rope; the fibers are cutting into my skin, tied painfully tight, just the way I like it.
I look up, expecting to see the painting of the eagle on the wall.
Instead, it’s a painting of a grave, mushrooms growing on top of it.
Something under the soil is moving, unearthing.
Something in the painting is real and being born.
“Don’t look at it.” Kincaid’s voice is rough and commanding in my ear. “Don’t do anything unless I tell you to.” He runs a hand down my spine, from my shoulders to my ass, and it takes me a minute to realize he’s wearing a glove. He brings his hand back up and then presses my head against the table.
“Stay completely still,” he says gruffly. “Don’t fucking move an inch, don’t fucking make a sound, or you’re going to bed with your hands tied, your swollen cunt begging for it.” He leans in, licking up the rim of my ear, making me shiver. “Then again, I do love it when you beg. I think your cunt does too.”
He pulls back, and I keep my eyes closed, my face pressed against the table. Cold air caresses the back of my thighs, and I hear the smooth sound of leather being whipped out of his belt buckle. I have no time to brace before?—
CRACK.
The belt comes down across my ass, a sharp, sweet pain.
I yelp, unable to help myself. I feel electric, alive.
“What did I just say?” Kincaid growls. He reaches forward and makes a fist in my hair, holding my head back, mouth at my ear. “You disobedient little slut.”
I squeeze my thighs together, trying to relieve the ache.
He immediately reaches between my legs and parts them.
“I’m going to take my fill of you now.” He reaches back, and I feel the head of his cock press against where I’m open and wet. I can’t help but move my hips, wanting him, needing him in deep.
“Please,” I beg him.
But nothing happens.
Suddenly, he’s no longer behind me.
I’m no longer on a table.
I’m on the goddamn floor in my room, practically writhing on the rug.
What the actual fuck?
I roll over and stare up at the ceiling, catching my breath.
Another goddamn dream.
But how did I end up here on the floor?
I sit up. The way my body still pulses tells me I came in my sleep again.
I can’t tell if these dreams are intensifying my attraction to Kincaid or helping in some way. Maybe I can keep my distance if I keep getting what I want in my dreams. But getting off on the floor of my room is next-level weird shit.
I get to my feet, unsteady, feeling a little embarrassed, even though no one saw me.
Though I kind of wish Kincaid did.
With him in mind, I go to my window. The alarm clock says three a.m., never the best hour to be awake, but maybe he happens to be on bear patrol.
But when I look out the window, I don’t see anyone at all. Just the moon filtering through the trees, making the ground look like it’s covered in shards of light.
There’s a knock at my door.
Quick and light.
I freeze, ice trickling down my spine.
Fuck. Not again.
Not again.
This time, I’m not leaving.
Another knock.
Then…
“Sydney,” a girl’s voice whispers excitedly. “Hurry up. It’s happening! It’s actually happening! Meet me at the field.”
She sounds familiar.
She sounds just like…
Amani?
But it can’t be.
The floorboards creak, followed by the sound of someone running down the stairs.
I quickly slide on my slippers and put on my housecoat, unlocking the door and pulling the key out of the lock. The hallway is empty and still poorly lit, but at least the power is on this time.
With my heart in my throat, I make a point of locking the door and then slipping the key into my pocket. Then I run down the stairs to the common room just in time to see the front door closing.
I hurry along, the fire down to embers, the room dark, and then burst out into the night. I catch sight of Amani running around the corner, and I follow along the path, running after her until we go past the lab and hit the gravel road that leads from the boat launch to the maintenance yard, the ground crunching beneath our feet and echoing in the trees.
She keeps going into the grassy field where empty boat trailers sit and then stops and starts twirling around with her arms raised to the sky.
“Isn’t this amazing?” she cries out.
I stare at her, trying to figure out what’s happening, how it’s happening, when I realize why Amani is spinning around and grinning like a fool.
White flakes are falling from the air.
It’s snowing.
It’s fucking snowing .
The cold hits me at once. My shins, my nose, my cheeks, the exposed section of my chest as flakes hit my skin and melt. I hold my robe closer, wishing I could make sense of this, wishing my brain could just keep up.
“They said it doesn’t snow here, not even in winter, and yet look at this!” she cries out, her breath freezing in the air. “This is a dream come true.”
I can only stand where I am and stare, blinking away the flakes that gather on my lashes. “You’re not real,” I whisper.
“Aren’t we lucky?” She continues to twirl, then points at me. “You’re so lucky that Everly didn’t care about your scholarship. Teacher’s pet that you are.”
I slowly walk toward her, terror starting to seep into my bones like the cold because Amani was sent home on the plane. Amani isn’t here. Someone else took her place.
But what if Amani didn’t go home at all?
“Amani. Are you okay?” I ask her, my voice shaking. “What happened to you? Where have you been staying? How do you know about Everly and my scholarship?”
“Sydney Denik, the golden child,” Amani says, laughing now. Round and round she goes. “Who would have thought? Well, that Professor Edwards dick will rue the day you become more successful than he is.”
I stop. No. None of this is right.
I look up at the sky. It’s still snowing, the flakes illuminated by the lights from the barn. It’s so quiet outside, so still, and the snow is getting thicker.
It’s getting colder.
This is real , I tell myself, feeling the flakes on my skin and in my hair, the biting ice. Snow in early June, strange but possible. But is she real?
Suddenly, she picks up a snowball and throws it at me.
It hits me right in the face, caking it.
I gasp, quickly brushing the snow out of my eyes, my nose and hair. When I look down at my hand, it’s smeared with red. Either the snow cut my face, or my nose is bleeding again.
I look up, blinking through frosted white. Amani is gone.
I spin around, looking for her.
“Amani!” I call out.
There are only the trees, their branches now layered with white, like icing sugar. They stand there, stoic observers, giving no insight.
She may have run to the logging road, to the barn, or to the woods, or just back to wherever she came from. But I don’t want to follow her anymore.
I don’t trust her.
I don’t trust my mind.
I don’t trust this place.