26. Cazimer #3
"We should have told you ourselves while we were still alive, but we are both so worried about what they might do to you if they knew you knew about the Zietnot virus and your role as the keystone of the cure. I don’t want to think about what kind of action the Windmill or the government would take if anyone knew that you would be willing to go against the odds and stand against them.
It’s frightening, yes, but stand against them you must," Landon adds with duty.
"We have very few friends and allies who haven't been compromised by the Feds or the Windmill.
Trust no one. Even people who you think you can trust, like Susan Lowry or Ed Compton. Do not trust them." Margo momentarily loses her composure, dissolving into a river of tears as Landon drapes an arm over her shoulders and does his best to comfort her.
"You will find the contact information for two of our research partners on this machine, along with the other materials and records we were able to provide.
If you can, make contact with them. They'll know how to help you safeguard the future against the virus.
" Margot wipes her eyes with the back of one hand.
"I know this is unfair and that you may hate us, but this is all we can offer you.
Please understand, Louise, that it was never our intent to create this great evil, to hurt you, or to put you in danger.
We know we will pay for our arrogance with our lives.
We can only hope that is a high enough price to pay to safeguard your future," she weeps.
"We're counting on you, Sweetheart. Good luck," Landon concludes—and the image freezes Margot and Landon with their bleary faces and watery smiles. Forever held as a still in time.
Louise lets out an anguished animal cry and crumples laying flat, face down on the ground, her body gently shaking with sobs.
Before I can say anything, Quentin is at my elbow, a crazed look in his eyes.
He reaches for the track mouse pad and I'm about to ask what he's doing when I watch him deftly navigate to the second video in the folder; a grainy security image obviously much older than the other digital video files that surround it.
Something about the look on his face, like a fox with its leg caught in a trap—makes my stomach clutch with panic.
Louise is still face down on the floor when the next video loads. If the date-time stamp in the bottom left hand corner of the video is to be believed, it was taken in March of 1993.
In the center of the frame sit two children in the middle of a brightly colored rug; a boy and a girl.
I know instantly that the little girl with long red hair sitting cross-legged in a robin's egg blue hospital nightgown is Louise as a child.
It only takes one incredulous second of examining the boy with cherry brown hair beside her, clutching her hand for dear life is a young, frightened Quentin.
"Oh, my God." The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Seb stands up, knocking over his chair as a chain of French curses leave his lips and he staggers backward.
Frank says nothing, his elbows balanced on his knees, his hands knit together in a bridge beneath his nose, obscuring the bottom half of his face. Even so, I can see the tendons and his wrists and arms standing out.
"All right, you two!" The sound of the Doctor's voice makes me jump and draws Louise's eyes from the floor to the screen.
She presses up onto her hands and knees, crawling slowly back toward the laptop, her eyes wide as saucers as she takes in the grainy image of herself and Quentin as children.
The pair of them watch, a lucidity sparkling from behind their eyes.
"How are you feeling today, Quentin?" The doctor asks evenly. Quentin, clearly shy, doesn't answer the doctor directly, but rather leans and whispers into Louise's ear—having her relay his message.
"He says he feels a little better, but his tummy still hurts." Louise's small voice carries over the old recording like a ghost from the past.
"And does your tummy feel better or worse when you get to be with Louise?" The doctor asks Quentin again. Once more, Quentin whispers into Louise's ear.
"He says it feels worse when he doesn't get to stay in the room with me. It feels best when we hold hands," Louise chirps quietly before offering Quentin a warm smile.
"That's good, very good. A few more questions and the two of you can go outside for a bit with the other kids. Nobody's contagious any more and one of the nurses brought some fresh sidewalk chalk."
Louise reaches out one hand, smashing it down to the keyboard frantically until the video pauses.
"That's enough! I've had enough!" she shrieks before slamming the laptop shut.
Louise launches from her place on the floor, flying to the front door and slamming it behind her as she disappears into the night.
My first instinct is to rise from the floor and follow her, but Seb grabs me by the arm and stops me before I can get to the door.
"Uh-uh, not right now." He shakes his head and folds me against him in a tight hug. "I know you know she's hurting—I do too, and it kills me, but right now, the best thing we can do is give her a moment to be alone."
Embarrassed, my attention slides to Quentin, who has also been dealt a serious blow.
"Hey Q?" I call him, my voice small as I reach for his rounded shoulder.
He doesn't move, doesn't give any indication that he's heard.
"Hey, Quentin," I try again. This time my fingers falling soft and warm over his shoulder—muscles thrumming beneath a layer of merino wool.
He doesn't say anything, just gives a loud wet sniffle, tears silently streaming down his face.
"You need some space, buddy?" I don't mean for my voice to sound like I'm speaking to a child, but I can't help myself. He feels so delicate, so vulnerable.
I'm already prepared to start moving away at the nod of his head, assuming that he will want his distance from us in this moment.
But instead, Quentin mutters only one word.
"No," he says softly before tilting his head down toward where I grip his shoulder, his wet cheek making contact with the back of my hand.
All at once, I kneel on the ground and pull him to me. Sébastien joins us, one arm draped over each of our shoulders, his head laid over the top of ours as Quentin cries softly.
Without warning, Frank leaps up from his chair and grabs it by the spindled backrest, letting out a mighty howl of anguish before smashing it to splinters against the cast iron wood stove; the three of us jump at his sudden outburst.
There's no question that tensions are high after the revelations of the last several minutes, but Frank's reaction seems overblown compared to that of Louise and Quentin, who undoubtedly are questioning their very reality at this moment.
"Easy, Frank," Seb attempts to gentle Frank away from the edge of his hysteria, but Frank will have none of it.
"So that's it then!? All of this—.All of this work, all of our digging. To find out this. " He sweeps his hand, lightning fast across the corner of the table, slapping his metal camping cup against the wall with a loud clatter.
"Fucking monsters use their own damn kid to play God—and what? We're supposed to believe that we just magically are also fated mates with Quentin and Louise!?" he barks, completely out of control.
"It's not magic, Frank," Seb interjects coolly, doing his best to de-escalate the situation.
“Once we get in touch with the scientists Louise's parents have mentioned, we'll have them confirm what we already know—not just from the tests, but from the sensation of our growing bonds post-heat. We are fated mates. The proof is definitive."
As a response, Frank bends down and lets out a scream until he has run out of breath, his eyes flat and expressionless.
Usually, this kind of thing would have frightened me, but right now he just seems like a child throwing a tantrum.
Seb and I stare back at him, bewildered but otherwise unphased by his outburst.
Whether he's unable or unwilling to deal with Frank's temper, Quentin wrestles himself free from Seb and I's arms and disappears out the front door after Louise into the cold winter's night.