The Blood Between Us (3 page)

Twenty minutes later, as I lay submerged in hot water up to my chin in a large slipper tub, a soft knock came at the door. My godfather’s voice soon followed. “Adrien? Might I have a word with you when you’re finished?”

“You can come in, Viktor. I’m dressed.” And dressed I was. Still wearing my slacks, my sweater, my shoes and socks. But soaking in a tub and wishing the world away. For how long, I wasn’t sure. Maybe forever. Maybe just for the moment.

The door swung open slowly and Viktor popped his head in before stepping fully inside and closing the door behind him. He looked down at me and, grabbing a stool from the vanity, took a seat beside the tub. “It would seem you’ve forgotten an important step in the bathing process. Most people remove their clothing before getting into the water. Are you all right?”

“No.” My words were flat as they left my lips. No feeling, no pain. They just were—the way that gravity was. Existing. But not something anyone ever really gave much thought to.
“No. I’m not all right. I’m not exactly sure what I am. But I’m most definitely not all right.”

Viktor’s frown deepened. “Perhaps you should stay with Julian and me for a while, until you can grieve and get your head around all that’s happened.”

I shook my head slowly. “No. I want to go back to school. Only . . .”

“Only what?”

I met Viktor’s eyes, the lump in my throat growing exponentially. How could I tell him what I wanted to do? How could I take from him another family member, when he’d just lost my parents, too? I swallowed hard, finding my courage in the warmth of the water. “Only I don’t want to go back to the Wills Institute. I want to go somewhere else. A different boarding school, far away from here. Is that okay?”

Viktor didn’t miss a beat. He had always been that way—supportive, at a moment’s notice. It was one of the many things that I had always admired about him. “It’s perfectly all right. If that’s what you want. But can I ask why?”

I sank down into the water some more until it was covering my chin. “I want to be as far away from Grace as I can possibly get.”

Viktor grew silent for a moment. From the look in his eyes, I could tell that he wasn’t surprised by my request, just
disappointed in it. “I see.”

“No, you don’t. You think I’m pushing away the only family that I have left because I’m in mourning or something. But that’s not it. Grace may be my adopted sister, but she’s not family to me, Viktor. She’s not even human. Has she shed a single tear since finding out Mom and Dad died?” I knew I was raising my voice, but I didn’t care.

“Have you?” Viktor’s words gave me a start. When he continued, he placed a hand on my shoulder, his fingers dipping into the water. “I’m just saying, we all grieve—”

“I know, I know. We all grieve in our own ways.” I rolled my eyes. “She cried buckets in the common room when she got the letter saying her stupid hamster died. And last year when that girl in our class died in a car accident, she was almost inconsolable at her funeral. They weren’t even friends, Viktor. The only difference between then and now is that no one popular is watching this time. As soon as we get back to school . . . you just wait. The waterworks will be in full service then.”

I was just so done with this place. So done with my sister and the way that she was. “She hates me, y’know. She always has. From the first moment Mom and Dad brought me home, she’s made her feelings toward me very clear. She’s not normal.”

Viktor pulled his hand from my shoulder and dried it on
a nearby towel. “There is no such thing as ‘normal.’ But yes, I suppose your sister is unusual. You both are. Extremely gifted, intelligent, curious young minds. Of course, it would be nice if you’d apply yourself more, so that the rest of the world could see what I see. What your parents saw. You’re better than Cs, Adrien.”

I frowned. “Are we really going to have this conversation now, Viktor?”

He stood up and walked over to the basin, putting the towel on the counter. He turned around, leaning against the cabinet. “There aren’t many thirteen-year-olds who could carry themselves through school while living away from their parents with barely a casual shrug. In that regard, neither of you is so-called normal. I think that’s why you struggle to get along. You’re so similar, but neither of you can see those similarities. Grace dives into her work, hiding between the pages of her textbooks. You hide in the only way you know how, by defiantly refusing to apply yourself. But the truth is, Adrien, you’re just as bright as your sister.”

I couldn’t take any more. I sank down into the water, letting it cover my head. Bubbles escaped my lips as I blew air out of them. I hoped that by sheer force of will I might be able to trigger some dormant gene that had lingered hidden in human DNA ever since we evolved from slimy swamp creatures, and spontaneously develop gills.

Before long, I felt Viktor’s hand in my hair, gently pulling me back into the world of the air breathers. As if there had been no interruption at all, he continued, “It’s like placing magnets together, end to end. They’re two of the same exact thing, but they resist being close to each other. Why?”

A heavy sigh escaped my lungs. “If you’re looking for the scientific explanation, it’s because of their polarity. But to follow your metaphor, they resist each other because, on the atomic level, the particles that make up the metal in the magnets are incompatible. The subatomic particles push against one another until the movement creates enough force to push the other magnet away. Much like Grace has been pushing me away our entire lives.”

His voice quieted for a moment. “But it’s only the like poles that repel each other. You see what I’m saying?”

“It’s not like I didn’t try with Grace when we were kids. I wanted a sister. I wanted a family. But she kept pushing me out. I did everything I could think of to earn her approval, her affection. But she cut me off at every turn. And now that Mom and Dad are gone, I’m done. I just can’t try anymore. I want to be away from her, Viktor. I need to.” I held his gaze with determination, refusing to budge on the issue.

Viktor sighed, at last giving in to my request. Supportive, as always, even when he didn’t really agree. “If that’s what you think you need for the moment, I’ll make the
necessary arrangements. But I do hope this arrangement is a temporary one.”

“Don’t count on it.”

As Viktor stood and moved back out the door, I pulled the plug on the tub and watched the water swirl into a vortex and down the drain.

That was four years ago. I haven’t forgotten a thing.

A transitional structure that forms between the reactants of a chemical reaction and breaks down to form the products

I stepped out of the locker room shower and toweled off before dressing in my street clothes and heading back to my dorm room. It was the Thursday before classes started, and I figured I was safe not wearing my uniform around campus, at least until Monday. Four years later, and some things hadn’t changed.

Some of the guys from the lacrosse team were meeting down at Sheggy’s for burgers before catching the latest sequel in our favorite horror movie franchise,
Psycho Slasher Chainsaw Guy from Hell: Redemption
.

Stacy smiled and said hi as I passed through the common
room. She was nice. A little too nice sometimes, like we were good friends instead of casual acquaintances. But that’s just how girls were, I guess. I smiled back.

It was amazing what four years away from my old life had done. True to his word, Viktor had arranged for me to enroll at a boarding school in southern California, just outside of San Diego. From my first week here, I’d felt lighter, happier, more at ease with myself. The move had been good for me. Hell, even my grades had improved.

Kind of.

For four years, I’d spent summers with friends, occasionally enjoyed a visit from Viktor and Julian. But never, not once, had I returned home or had to look Grace in the eye again. Viktor had kept that promise to me.

As of two days ago, I’d returned to start my senior year, which meant that college, life, and the world lay before me. It was a good feeling—one of many I’d come to know here that I never could have experienced back east.

My dorm room might not feel like home, exactly, but I didn’t have a home anymore. This campus was as good as anyplace else.

The door to my room opened, and Connor poked his head in. “Dane. You’ve got mail.”

Pushing my chair back from my desk, I raised an eyebrow at my roommate. Mail? Already? I had a feeling I knew
what it was, but I was surprised it had arrived so early. I hadn’t even been in town a week, after a long, happy summer at Lake Tahoe with friends. “Anything good?”

“Well, my mom didn’t send
you
any brownies, so I guess not.” Connor tossed the envelope at me ninja-star-style, clutching the small box of aforementioned brownies in his other hand.

I caught the envelope effortlessly and smirked. “Yeah, but those pics she texted me last night sure made up for it.”

“You’re a funny guy, Dane. Sleep with one eye open tonight.” We both laughed as Connor disappeared back out the door.

I called after him, “Seriously, dude, you’re not gonna give me one?”

My phone pinged with a text alert, and I set the letter on my desk. When I pulled my phone from my pocket, I thought it was strange that the sender was listed simply as Unknown. As I read the message, the beginnings of a headache tapped at the base of my skull, in perfect concert with every syllable of the words on the screen.

Grace is stealing your father’s work. And you’re not even here to stop her.

I considered not responding, or even just deleting the text. But curiosity got the better of me. I typed in a short reply with my thumbs and hit send.
Who is this?

A friend.
A pause, followed by a second text.
I’m at the Wills Institute.

Heat crawled up the sides of my neck, hinting at touching my face.
What’s your name?

The response was immediate.
Not important. But what is important is that your sister is finishing your father’s work and plans to take all the credit for it.

I rolled my eyes in irritation. I didn’t have time for this.
You’re full of it. And I don’t appreciate your little prank. Don’t contact me again.

The three dots appeared, signaling that the texter was typing something. Hate it as I did, I couldn’t deny my curiosity. I wasn’t sure what bothered me more—the fact that the person kept texting me, or the fact that I wanted to know what else they had to say. Finally, the words came through on my screen.
I’ve been watching her. She’s crafty. I think she’d do just about anything to have the spotlight all to herself. Don’t you?

I did. But that didn’t mean I was going to share my feelings with a total stranger . . . or maybe even Grace herself, hiding behind the anonymity of a text message.

The phone pinged again.
Maybe even kill for it.

I stared at the message, my head aching, my heart suddenly thumping inside my chest. I whispered aloud, “What do you mean by that exactly?”

I sat there in my chair awhile, breathing in and out, trying to see clearly through the whirlwind of thoughts that had filled my mind. I sent another message.
Who are you?

I waited, watching the clock. After five full minutes, there was no response. I sent another.
Hello?

But whoever it was, they were done playing with me for now. They’d stirred up the kind of anxious thoughts that had kept me company for as long as I could remember, only to disappear once again.

Listen, pal. Unless you want to give me some real information, I don’t want to hear a word you have to say. So next time you feel like texting me, either include your name with the message or piss off.

I set my phone on the desk and picked up the envelope Connor had brought me. The addresses on the front were in neat handwriting, on lines so straight that it looked as if they’d been written with the aid of a ruler. It was the handwriting of an orderly person, and despite the almost feminine curve to some of the letters, the writer was a man. Not just any man. Viktor.

Once a month, my guardian, my godfather, sent a handwritten letter, sometimes with photos, catching me up on everything he thought I was missing out on. Viktor didn’t use a cell phone. He didn’t text or Instagram or anything that normal people did. He was one of that strange,
rare breed who seemed convinced that the advancement of technology was actually contributing to the decline of polite society . . . or some such crap. He was probably solely responsible for the continued operations of the United States Postal Service. Each letter contained an update on Grace, and gently pleaded with me to consider returning to the Wills Institute. The photographs were never of my sister, just of things that were supposed to remind me of home, and Viktor only dared a sentence or two concerning her well-being and latest accomplishments. Even Viktor, who could be annoyingly persistent when the mood caught him, knew better than to push Grace on me—or the other way around. My sister and I wanted nothing to do with each other. That much was made clear on the day I’d left the Wills Institute to move to California and Grace hadn’t even come to say good-bye.

I picked up my phone and scrolled back through the text conversation. Who had sent them? The number was marked as Unknown. It could have been anyone, although they’d acted like they’d known me personally. And had insinuated such ugly things about Grace. Not that I thought my sister wasn’t fully capable of stealing our father’s research, if she had the motivation. But would she kill for it? Was Grace capable of that kind of evil?

I wished I was certain one way or another. I couldn’t help remembering when we were kids and Grace had gotten a new bike for Christmas. Emily from down the street had received the same bike. Only hers was purple, Grace’s favorite color, with fancy tassels on the handlebars. Grace was so mad that Emily’s bike was better than hers that she tossed Emily’s in a Dumpster and watched as the garbage truck crushed it. I saw the whole thing. Only no one believed me.

Grace never touched her pink bike again. She just left it outside beside the garage to rust.

I set the phone down again and ripped open the envelope. Better just to get it over with—read whatever it was that Viktor had to say. A letter, handwritten on vellum, slipped out and into my palm, weighted by something that was folded within. When I saw what it was, my breath caught in my throat. I recognized it instantly.

It was a silver coin from Croatia, marking the 150th anniversary of the birth of Nikola Tesla. One side—the side opposite the image of Tesla’s face—had been worn almost bare. It was the coin that my father had always carried with him, the worry stone he’d fiddled with whenever he was trying to work out some detail, some problem that was standing in his way. I had assumed the coin was lost in the fire. And
yet here it was, in the palm of my hand.

I unfolded the letter and began to read.

Dearest Adrien,

I hope this letter finds you well.

It does, Viktor. Thank you.

My most recent conversation with your headmaster told me that your second semester grades were much improved from the first. I was happy to hear that, though I would urge you, of course, to really push yourself. As it is your senior year, it’s time to buckle down and show the world what you’ve got inside that head of yours.

Blah, blah, blah. Grades aren’t everything, Viktor.

He also mentioned that you’ve even begun participating in extracurricular activities. Your parents would have been proud—and I’m sure they are even now, wherever their souls might rest. Grace sends her regards.

I’m sure she does. I’m sure that’s not at all some nicety you’re inserting here just for show.

As usual, she has been excelling academically. She was named captain of the debate team for her senior year. I’m sure she misses you very much. It would be nice if you could extend an olive branch in the form of a letter or phone call. I fear the space between you both will only grow wider if one of you doesn’t act as the bigger person and begin the healing process.

Some wounds can’t heal, Viktor.

But that’s not why I’ve written to you today.

Enclosed you’ll find your father’s coin. I’m sure you understand the significance of this item, and I thought that you would greatly appreciate it.

And I do.

It was the strangest thing. I thought for certain that the coin had melted in the lab fire, but the other day, as I was tidying up some of the files given to me by Mr. Sheldon, your parents’ lawyer, I found the coin in the bottom of one of the file boxes. I can only guess that your father dropped it inside without realizing. I hope this is a happy accident for you and gives you
something solid to hold on to as you reminisce about what a brilliant, compassionate, trustworthy man your father was.

It means a lot. Thank you.

It was good to see it, to hold it in my hand. It somehow brought Allen closer to me just by touching it, so I hope the coin has the same effect on you. The coin, of course, is yours for the keeping—just as your mother’s locket now belongs to Grace.

I realize that your senior year classes will begin on Monday, Adrien, but I implore you. Transfer back to the Wills Institute.

Not a chance, but thanks for asking.

Spend this final year before college in the same school as your sister. It would do this old man’s heart good to see you at least attempting a relationship with her. I’m sure that your parents would have wanted better than this for the both of you. Once college begins, I fear that the space between you will grow into a chasm.

It already has.

Please call me after you consider this, so that we can discuss it. I have further information that may affect your thoughts on the matter.

Not likely.

I would have called you with that information first, but I wanted you to have your father’s coin in your hand when we speak.

Wait. What?

Take care, Adrien. Of yourself and your sister.

Fondly,

Viktor

I dropped the unfolded letter on my desk and leaned back in my chair, my father’s coin cupped in my left palm. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, gathering myself. It could only be bad news. Viktor almost never asked me to call.

With a deep breath locked inside my lungs, I punched in the code to unlock my cell phone and pulled up Viktor’s landline. By the time I put the phone to my ear, it was already ringing. A feeling of dread had crept into my chest,
but I wasn’t certain why. Absentmindedly, I began to rub the coin with my other hand.

That familiar, warm, confident voice came over the cell. “Viktor Cadswell speaking. How can I help you?”

“Viktor. It’s Adrien.”

“Adrien, my boy. How are you? How are things on the sunny West Coast?” Viktor sounded pleasant. Almost too pleasant, like he was laying it on thick.

“Good. Things are good.” I glanced at the pages of his letter on my desk and wet my lips before saying, “I just got your letter. You said to call?”

“Of course.” Viktor cleared his throat. Maybe he was buying time. Maybe it was nothing. “I want you to know how very much I dread having to tell you this over the phone, Adrien. But it seems there’s no other way at the present time. Do you have your father’s coin?”

Suddenly, what was left of the air inside my lungs felt heavy and thick, like a fog. “Yeah, it’s right here.”

“It always helped him in times of stress. I’m hoping it will help you, too, when I share this news with you.”

I squeezed the coin between my thumb and forefinger. “Viktor, what is going on?”

There was a pause—one that seemed to stretch out over the afternoon like a large, unexpected cloud on an otherwise sunny day. “Well, I suppose there’s no easy way to say
this. Months ago, I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I didn’t want to worry you or your sister at the time, but now the doctors say that it’s advanced to the point where it is inoperable and otherwise untreatable.”

“Viktor . . .” I sat up straight in my chair and listened to my breathing for a bit before speaking again. In. Out. In. “Are you saying you’re dying?”

The words had left my mouth, but they didn’t feel real. Viktor couldn’t be dying. There had already been enough death in my life. Enough pain. Enough loss. It had to be some kind of misunderstanding.

Viktor’s tone was still warm and kind, but suddenly he sounded like an echo of the man I had always known. “We’re all dying, my boy. It’s just that my time seems to be growing shorter than several others’, yes.”