02 - Stay Out of the Basement (5 page)

“Kids—it’s okay!” Dr. Brewer called. He bent down quickly, picked up the
baseball cap, and replaced it on his head.

A crow flew low overhead, cawing loudly. Margaret raised her eyes to follow
the bird, but the sight of the hideous leaves sprouting from her father’s head
wouldn’t go away.

Her whole head began to itch as she imagined what it must feel like to have
leaves uncurling from your scalp.

“It’s okay. Really,” Dr. Brewer repeated, hurrying over to them.

“But, Dad—your head,” Casey stammered. He suddenly looked very pale.

Margaret felt sick. She kept swallowing hard, trying to ride out the waves of
nausea.

“Come here, you two,” their father said softly, putting an arm around each of
their shoulders. “Let’s sit down in the shade over there and have a talk. I
spoke to your mom on the phone this morning. She told me you’re upset about my work.”

“Your head—it’s all green!” Casey repeated.

“I know,” Dr. Brewer said, smiling. “That’s why I put on the cap. I didn’t
want you two to worry.”

He led them to the shade of the tall hedges that ran along the garage, and
they sat down on the grass. “I guess you two think your dad has gotten pretty
weird, huh?”

He stared into Margaret’s eyes. Feeling uncomfortable, she looked away.

Cawing frantically, the crow flew over again, heading in the other direction.

“Margaret, you haven’t said a word,” her father said, squeezing her hand
tenderly between his. “What’s wrong? What do you want to say to me?”

Margaret sighed and still avoided her father’s glance. “Come on. Tell us. Why
do you have leaves growing out of your head?” she asked bluntly.

“It’s a side effect,” he told her, continuing to hold her hand. “It’s only
temporary. It’ll go away soon and my hair will grow back.”

“But how did it happen?” Casey asked, staring at his father’s Dodgers cap. A
few green leaves poked out from under the brim.

“Maybe you two would feel better if I explained what I’m trying to do down in
the basement,” Dr. Brewer said, shifting his weight and leaning back on his hands. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my experiments, I haven’t had much
time to talk to you.”

“You haven’t had
any
time,” Margaret corrected him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his eyes. “I really am. But this work I’m
doing is so exciting and so difficult.”

“Did you discover a new kind of plant?” Casey asked, crossing his legs
beneath him.

“No, I’m trying to
build
a new kind of plant,” Dr. Brewer explained.

“Huh?” Casey exclaimed.

“Have you ever talked about DNA in school?” their father asked. They shook
their heads. “Well, it’s pretty complicated,” he continued. Dr. Brewer thought
for a moment. “Let me try and put it in simple terms,” he said, fiddling with
the bandage around his hand. “Let’s say we took a person who had a very high IQ.
You know. Real brain power.”

“Like me,” Casey interrupted.

“Casey, shut up,” Margaret said edgily.

“A real brain. Like Casey,” Dr. Brewer said agreeably. “And let’s say we were
able to isolate the molecule or gene or tiny part of a gene that enabled the
person to have such high intelligence. And then let’s say we were able to
transmit it into other brains. And then this brain power could be passed along
from generation to generation. And lots of people would have a high IQ. Do you understand?” He looked first at
Casey, then at Margaret.

“Yeah. Kind of,” Margaret said. “You take a good quality from one person and
put it into other people. And then they have the good quality, too, and they
pass it on to their children, and on and on.”

“Very good,” Dr. Brewer said, smiling for the first time in weeks. “That’s
what a lot of botanists do with plants. They try to take the fruit-bearing
building block from one plant and put it into another. Create a new plant that
will bear five times as much fruit, or five times as much grain, or vegetables.”

“And that’s what you’re doing?” Casey asked.

“Not exactly,” their father said, lowering his voice. “I’m doing something a
little more unusual. I really don’t want to go into detail now. But I’ll tell
you that what I’m trying to do is build a kind of plant that has never existed
and
could
never exist. I’m trying to build a plant that’s
part
animal
.”

Casey and Margaret stared at their father in surprise. Margaret was the first
to speak. “You mean you’re taking cells from an animal and putting them into a
plant?”

He nodded. “I really don’t want to say more. You two understand why this must
be kept secret.” He turned his eyes on Margaret, then Casey, studying their reactions.

“How do you do it?” Margaret asked, thinking hard about everything he had
just told them. “How do you get these cells from the animals to the plant?”

“I’m trying to do it by breaking them down electronically,” he answered. “I
have two glass booths connected by a powerful electron generator. You may have
seen them when you were snooping around down there.” He made a sour face.

“Yeah. They look like phone booths,” Casey said.

“One booth is a sender, and one is a receiver,” he explained. “I’m trying to
send the right DNA, the right building blocks, from one booth to the other. It’s
very delicate work.”

“And have you done it?” Margaret asked.

“I’ve come very close,” Dr. Brewer said, a pleased smile crossing his face.
The smile lasted only a few seconds. Then, his expression thoughtful, he
abruptly climbed to his feet. “Got to get back to work,” he said quietly. “See
you two later.” He started walking across the lawn, taking long strides.

“But, Dad,” Margaret called after him. She and Casey climbed to their feet,
too. “Your head. The leaves. You didn’t explain it,” she said as she and her brother hurried to
catch up to him.

Dr. Brewer shrugged. “Nothing to explain,” he said curtly. “Just a side
effect.” He adjusted his Dodgers cap. “Don’t worry about it. It’s only
temporary. Just a side effect.”

Then he hurried into the house.

Casey seemed really pleased by their dad’s explanation of what was going on
in the basement. “Dad’s doing really important work,” he said, with unusual
seriousness.

But, as Margaret made her way into the house, she found herself troubled by
what her dad had said. And even more troubled by what he
hadn’t
said.

Margaret closed the door to her room and lay down on the bed to think about
things. Her father hadn’t really explained the leaves growing on his head. “Just
a side effect” didn’t explain much at all.

A side effect from what? What actually caused it? What made his hair fall
out? When will his hair grow back?

It was obvious that he hadn’t wanted to discuss it with them. He had
certainly hurried back to his basement after telling them it was just a side
effect.

A side effect.

It made Margaret feel sick every time she thought about it.

What must it feel like? Green leaves pushing up from your pores, uncurling
against your head.

Yuck. Thinking about it made her itch all over. She knew she’d have hideous
dreams tonight.

She grabbed her pillow and hugged it over her stomach, wrapping her arms
tightly around it.

There were lots of other questions Casey and I should have asked, she
decided. Like, why were the plants moaning down there? Why did some of them
sound like they were breathing? Why did that plant grab Casey? What animal was
Dad using?

Lots of questions.

Not to mention the one Margaret wanted to ask most of all: Why were you
gulping down that disgusting plant food?

But she couldn’t ask that one. She couldn’t let her dad know she’d been
spying on him.

She and Casey hadn’t really asked any of the questions they’d wanted
answered. They were just so pleased that their father had decided to sit down
and talk with them, even for a few minutes.

His explanation was really interesting, as far as it went, Margaret decided.
And it was good to know that he was close to doing something truly amazing, something that would make him really famous.

But what about the rest of it?

A frightening thought entered her mind: Could he have been lying to them?

No, she quickly decided. No. Dad wouldn’t lie to us.

There are just some questions he hasn’t answered yet.

She was still thinking about all of these questions late that night—after
dinner, after talking to Diane on the phone for an hour, after homework, after
watching a little TV, after going to bed. And she was still puzzling over them.

When she heard her father’s soft footsteps coming up the carpeted stairs, she
sat up in bed. A soft breeze fluttered the curtains across the room. She
listened to her father’s footsteps pass her room, heard him go into the
bathroom, heard the water begin to run into the sink.

I’ve got to ask him, she decided.

Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was two-thirty in the morning.

But she realized she was wide awake.

I’ve got to ask him about the plant food.

Otherwise, it will drive me crazy. I’ll think about it and think about it and
think about it. Every time I see him, I’ll picture him standing over the sink, shoving handful after handful into his mouth.

There’s got to be a simple explanation, she told herself, climbing out of
bed. There’s got to be a
logical
explanation.

And I have to know it.

She padded softly down the hall, a sliver of light escaping through the
bathroom door, which was slightly ajar. Water still ran into the sink.

She heard him cough, then heard him adjust the water.

I have to know the answer, she thought.

I’ll just ask him point-blank.

She stepped into the narrow triangle of light and peered into the bathroom.

He was standing at the sink, leaning over it, his chest bare, his shirt
tossed behind him on the floor. He had put the baseball cap on the closed toilet
lid, and the leaves covering his head shone brightly under the bathroom light.

Margaret held her breath.

The leaves were so geeen, so thick.

He didn’t notice her. He was concentrating on the bandage on his hand. Using
a small scissors, he cut the bandage, then pulled it off.

The hand was still bleeding, Margaret saw.

Or was it?

What
was
that dripping from the cut on her father’s hand?

Still holding her breath, she watched him wash it off carefully under the hot
water. Then he examined it, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

After washing, the cut continued to bleed.

Margaret stared hard, trying to better focus her eyes.

It couldn’t be blood—could it?

It couldn’t be blood dripping into the sink.

It was bright green!

She gasped and started to run back to her room. The floor creaked under her
footsteps.

“Who’s there?” Dr. Brewer cried. “Margaret? Casey?”

He poked his head into the hallway as Margaret disappeared back into her
room.

He saw me, she realized, leaping into bed.

He saw me—and now he’s coming after me.

Margaret pulled the covers up to her chin. She realized she was trembling,
her whole body shaking and chilled.

She held her breath and listened.

She could still hear water splashing into the bathroom sink.

But no footsteps.

He isn’t coming after me, she told herself, letting out a long, silent sigh.

How could I have thought that? How could I have been so terrified—of my own
father?

Terrified.

It was the first time the word had crossed her mind.

But sitting there in bed, trembling so violently, holding onto the covers so
hard, listening for his approaching footsteps, Margaret realized that she was
terrified.

Of her own father.

If only Mom were home, she thought.

Without thinking, she reached for the phone. She had the idea in her head to
call her mother, wake her up, tell her to come home as fast as she could. Tell
her something terrible was happening to Dad. That he was changing. That he was
acting so weird….

She glanced at the clock. Two-forty-three.

No. She couldn’t do that. Her poor mother was having such a terrible time in
Tucson trying to care for her sister. Margaret couldn’t frighten her like that.

Besides, what could she say? How could she explain to her mother how she had
become terrified of her own father?

Mrs. Brewer would just tell her to calm down. That her father still loved
her. That he would never harm her. That he was just caught up in his work.

Caught up….

He had leaves growing out of his head, he was eating dirt, and his blood was
green.

Caught up….

She heard the water in the sink shut off. She heard the bathroom light being
clicked off. Then she heard her father pad slowly to his room at the end of the
hall.

Margaret relaxed a little, slid down in the bed, loosened her grip on the
blankets. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind.

She tried counting sheep.

That never worked. She tried counting to one thousand. At 375, she sat up.
Her head throbbed. Her mouth was as dry as cotton.

She decided to go downstairs and get a drink of cold water from the
refrigerator.

I’m going to be a wreck tomorrow, she thought, making her way silently
through the hall and down the stairs.

It
is
tomorrow.

What am I going to do? I’ve got to get to sleep.

The kitchen floor creaked beneath her bare feet. The refrigerator motor
clicked on noisily, startling her.

Be cool, she told herself. You’ve got to be cool.

She had opened the refrigerator and was reaching for the water bottle when a
hand grabbed her shoulder.