Chapter 8 - August SeventeenthRichard Vale was released six hours later.
No weapon had been found on him.
The armed men in the church denied working for him.
They had licenses.
They claimed they were private security hired because Richard feared Elise’s associates.
It was infuriating.
It was also predictable.
Men like Richard did not survive decades by leaving simple evidence.
But he had given me something more valuable than an arrest.
A date.
August 17, 1991.
I returned to my father’s archives.
This time, I stopped looking for what he had wanted me to find.
I looked for what he had tried to hide.
August 1991 was missing from his personal calendar.
Not empty.
Missing.
Pages removed.
Corporate records showed that Helix Meridian formally dissolved in September.
The laboratory fire occurred August 18.
One day after Richard’s date.
I contacted Vivian.
“What happened on August seventeenth?”
Silence.
Then she said, “I was afraid you’d ask.”
“Answer.”
“Your mother called me.”
“Why?”
“She needed help.”
“With what?”
“Getting you out of Chicago.”
I stopped.
“I was a baby.”
“Eleven months.”
“Why did she want to leave?”
“She was afraid.”
“Of Richard?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Of Charles.”
I sat down.
The words did not fit inside the version of my childhood I had carried for thirty-five years.
“My father never hurt my mother.”
“Not physically.”
“What did he do?”
“He discovered what Rebecca had done.”
“The viral vector?”
“Yes.”
“He thought she experimented on me?”
“At first.”
“But Elise said it was accidental.”
“It was.”
“Did he believe her?”
“Eventually.”
“Then why was she afraid?”
Vivian inhaled.
“Because Charles wanted to study you.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
My father had loved me.
I knew that.
But he had also been a scientist obsessed with answers.
Both truths could exist.
“What happened?”
“Rebecca refused. Richard learned about your blood results. He offered to hide her.”
“That sounds generous for Richard.”
“It wasn’t. He wanted access to you too.”
“So she had nowhere to go.”
“She called me.”
“Why you?”
“Because I was the only person outside the laboratory who knew enough to understand.”
“What did you do?”
“I arranged a car.”
“To where?”
“Milwaukee. Rebecca had family there.”
“Did she go?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Charles found out.”
I stood.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Vivian.”
“I swear.”
Her voice cracked.
“The next morning, the laboratory burned.”
I thought of Richard’s accusation.
“He said my father killed Samuel Voss.”
“Samuel wasn’t in the fire.”
“What?”
“His brother was.”
“Then when did Samuel die?”
Vivian whispered, “Years later.”
My pulse accelerated.
“My father’s letter implied Samuel disappeared.”
“He did.”
“But Richard said Charles let him die.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
There was only one person who might.
Daniel Mercer.
Finding him took Julian four days.
Richard had lied about having Daniel under his direct control.
But he had not lied about Daniel being alive.
Daniel Mercer was seventy-one and living under the name David Mason in a long-term cardiac facility outside Madison, Wisconsin.
We drove there without telling Richard.
Grant came.
I had not invited him.
Lily had.
That morning, while I packed, she asked, “Is Daddy helping?”
I told her yes.
“Then he should go.”
Children sometimes simplified things adults complicated.
Grant had hurt me.
He had also spent the previous week helping protect Lily without asking for credit.
Those facts did not cancel each other.
They simply existed together.
Daniel Mercer looked nothing like the photograph.
Age and illness had reduced him to sharp cheekbones and translucent skin.
But his eyes were alert.
When I introduced myself, he smiled.
“Charles’s girl.”
“I’m not a girl anymore.”
“To me you are. I held you once.”
I froze.
“When?”
“Before everything burned.”
Grant and Julian exchanged glances.
I sat beside the bed.
“Tell me about August seventeenth.”
Daniel’s smile vanished.
“Richard found you.”
“Where?”
“At the lab.”
I felt cold.
“Why was I there?”
“Rebecca brought you.”
According to Daniel, my mother had returned to the laboratory that night to destroy samples related to the viral vector.
She brought me because she did not trust anyone else.
Richard arrived unexpectedly.
He had learned that my blood showed stable expression of the regenerative marker.
“He wanted a sample,” Daniel said.
“Did he take one?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Charles stopped him.”
“How?”
Daniel looked toward the window.
“They fought.”
“Physically?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“Samuel arrived.”
“Voss?”
“Yes.”
“Was his brother there?”
“Peter.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Too many angry men. Too much dangerous equipment.”
“What caused the fire?”
“No one ever knew.”
“Richard says my father killed Peter.”
Daniel opened his eyes.
“Richard says many things.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
Relief came.
Then Daniel added, “But Charles made a choice.”
“What choice?”
“The fire started near the chemical storage room. Peter was trapped.”
My throat tightened.
“Charles could have gone back.”
“Why didn’t he?”
Daniel looked at me.
“Because you were still inside.”
Everything stopped.
“My father chose me.”
“Yes.”
“Peter died because my father saved me.”
“Peter died because the building was burning.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No.”
Daniel’s voice sharpened unexpectedly.
“Do not inherit Richard Vale’s version of morality.”
I stared at him.
“He has spent thirty-five years describing every tragedy as someone else’s crime.”
Daniel coughed.
A nurse entered, checked his monitor, then left.
“What happened afterward?”
“Rebecca blamed herself.”
“Why?”
“She believed her research caused everything.”
“And my father?”
“He shut it down.”
“Helix Meridian.”
“Yes.”
“Then BC-47 returned years later.”
“Samuel brought it back.”
“Why?”
“Because I was dying.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
“Samuel and I were friends.”
“You were the unauthorized patient.”
“Yes.”
“Did my father approve?”
“No.”
“Did he know?”
“Not until afterward.”
“Why didn’t he report Samuel?”
“Because I lived.”
That answer contained everything.
Scientific wonder.
Fear.
Complicity.
Hope.
“What happened to Samuel?”
Daniel looked at me for a long time.
“Richard found him.”
“When?”
“After Elise was treated.”
“And?”
“He wanted Samuel to reproduce Rebecca’s second-stage work.”
“Samuel couldn’t.”
“No.”
“What did Richard do?”
Daniel’s eyes became wet.
“He kept him working for months.”
“Against his will?”
“Yes.”
“And my father?”
“He tried to get Samuel out.”
My breath caught.
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because Samuel was already dying.”
“What happened?”
“Cancer.”
The accusation suddenly made sense.
Charles let Samuel die.
Not murder.
Not fire.
Something morally less simple.
“My father could have taken him to a hospital.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“Samuel refused.”
“Why?”
“Because if authorities discovered where he had been, Richard’s entire network would surface.”
“That sounds like a reason to go.”
“Not to Samuel.”
Daniel looked exhausted.
“He had treated patients illegally. Two were dead. He believed prison would destroy what remained of his family.”
“So my father hid him.”
“Yes.”
“Until he died.”
“Yes.”
I stood and walked to the window.
My father had hidden a dying man.
Protected a secret.
Protected Blackwell.
Protected himself.
Perhaps all three.
There was no clean hero in the story.
Only frightened people making choices whose consequences survived them.
“Where is Samuel buried?”
Daniel hesitated.
“Charles never told Richard.”
“I’m not Richard.”
“No.”
Daniel smiled sadly.
“You’re Rebecca.”
He gave me the location.
A cemetery outside Evanston.
Samuel Voss was buried under his mother’s surname.
The next morning, Julian and I visited.
The grave was simple.
SAMUEL HART.
1957–2010.
Beloved brother.
At the base of the stone was a small metal plaque.
Recently disturbed earth surrounded it.
Someone had been there.
Julian crouched.
“There’s something underneath.”
Security checked it first.
Then we lifted the plaque.
A waterproof container lay beneath.
Inside was a notebook.
Samuel’s final research journal.
The last page contained a message.
Charles—
If Richard ever finds Rebecca’s daughter, tell her the treatment is not in her blood.
It is in the immune response her blood creates.
Do not let him transfuse her.
Do not let him harvest her.
And most importantly—
Do not let him know about the third child.
I read the final line again.
Third child.
Elise.
May you like
Me.
And someone else.
