I blinked at the blatant evidence of our parents’ betrayal while the orangutaneee-eee-eeeed off-screen. By now, I shouldn’t be surprised.
Layla said.
Brady said.
Layla said miserably.
“Isn’t he hilarious?” Layla asked aloud, making a show of pointing at the screen and laughing.
With answers about Griffin’s fate potentially mere clicks away, I didn’t have it in me to feed the ruse. I left Brady to guffaw, amazed the twins could put on such a convincing performance when my insides were quivering. I could literally feel my organs vibrating for the answers that could either pulverize me or release the band that hadn’t stopped cinching my heart since Clyde had erupted into arching flames.
In addition to folders labeled with our names, there were many others with scientific nomenclature. Hunt skipped those, clicking on the one labeled GRIFFIN CONWAY.
My breath snaked in with a hiss and my body froze. The master folder contained dozens of others. Hunt eventually settled on one titled ENTRY LOG.
A tense exhale hissed out while Hunt scrolled to the most recent update. My eyes jumped around the page, scanning the text without actually reading it, too desperate to get the answer I needed more than I needed my next breath.
“Oh holy fuck,” I exclaimed before dissolving into unhinged, hysterical laughter that had a few sobs mixed in there.
When I laughed, so did Layla, and together the two of us sounded like loons.
On Hunt’s other side, Brady didn’t make a sound for several seconds, entirely still.
“This video … is so fucking awesome,” Hunt breathed for the recording that was undoubtedly being made of us. His voice cracked.
We were all staring at the same string of words:
Griffin’s progress has been remarkable, beyond what we have seen previously in any of the test subjects. His body is nearly finished reconstructing. He received no resuscitation or aid beyond our retrieval of his parts. It appears possibly necessary for them to be placed in close proximity for the bonding to occur. The damage was severe. It is possible we were unable to recover every single part. However, we did recover every piece over two inches in size.
Suggestion for further experimentation:
Will his body still be able to regenerate if it is missing some of its vital parts? Perhaps omit an internal organ required for sustained life.
T.A.D.
Brady said.
Hunt said.
Our scientist-parents signed their notes with their real initials, not the fake names they’d fed us all our lives.
Layla said.
I would, too, but I couldn’t get that out.
Brady finally laughed, loud and boisterous. Hunt’s muscles relaxed some of their tension. And Layla was speaking aloud, some stupid shit about the ape reminding her of Brady.
I was unable to register all of it. My chest cavity felt simultaneously both unbearably full and terrifyingly empty. A flood of relief warred with the fear that had scooped out my insides, that hadn’t yet released me from its vicious, clawed grip.
Griffin was alive.
He wasalive.
Alive, alive, alive!
I didn’t have to be afraid any longer.
At least, not until Magnum and our faux parents pulled more shit like this—all in the name of science and the betterment of humanity.Right. Of course.
