Before Heaven

Chapter 8

VII

Exactly four weeks. Twenty-eight days.

It was movie night in the Nest. Some of the applicants had all submitted little slips with their preferred films to the main office which would be drawn at random. Three films would be displayed in the auditorium the night of the twenty-eighth day. I was tempted to submit 28 Days Later, just for a little joke regarding how far we were into pre-simulation, but I decided against it and eventually just put in Fight Club. That was a damn good movie and something I'd found myself rewatching numerous times back at home. Mom and Dad's extravagant little house was in Los Angelos and I'd once visited the area where Fight Club had been filmed (more specifically, Wilmington; that's were the bar that had served as Lou's Tavern once stood). I could still remember watching the film when I was ten years old with Dad. We both had a merry good time, although Dad ended up drunk on the couch when it was over. It was one of the few really happy memories I could recall having with him. Out of Mom and Dad, I think Dad was generally better; he at least tried to give a s**t about me on occasion. He didn't pay much attention to me – at least not anymore – but he sometimes spoiled me. I figured he could live with himself if he threw some fancy s**t at me every once in a while to keep me sated. The effort was there, at least. Mom, on the other hand, didn't even seem to want me in the house. She didn't beat me or anything, but she never acknowledged me and she didn't give a rat's ass about me or anything I had to say. Not that I ever had the courage to speak up to my parents, to begin with. At least I had the pride of being something of a lavish accessory to Dad. Mom didn't even have the dignity to consider me that. I was invisible to her, and I hated it.

What continued to provide me solace, however, were my continued conversations with Alice and Jenny. Alice was supportive – really supportive. I felt like I could trust them enough to vent my own worries about what would happen after all of this and how the media would once again completely deface me without them judging me on it. They had that bizarre, innocuous charm to them. They were undemanding. They were curious to my life and they seemed genuinely invested in it and sincerely interested in providing me support. It wasn't just the basic stuff, like "stay strong" or "it'll be better." Alice actively charted out potential courses of action for me. They got me to tell them what exactly I felt was wrong about my circumstance so they could offer practical, realistic support pertaining to how to deal with it. They were almost scarily intelligent for fourteen years of age; a lot of the crap they suggested never would have passed my mind. They remained a casual friend, as well; someone I could share a drink or donut with and just host a nice conversation with without worrying about what they'd say in return. We shared laughs, little tales, joked with each other, and all the like. Alice still remained hush-hush about what had happened when they still lived with their parents, but they were happy to let me listen to what they did in the streets of Quebec. The winters were harsh s**t – typical of Canada – and they'd been squatting in an abandoned building for quite some time now. They kept something of a low profile by reason of the fact they stole almost everything they had. They'd only be caught about once or twice and an attempt had once been made to contact their mother about them not being home. Mary – Alice's mother – had simply refused to respond. It was a complete enigma as to why she was so committed to not associating with her child. Alice never shed any light on the situation and I just assumed they'd fallen under a similar circumstance to my own; a mother that couldn't give less of a s**t about her child. I could empathize with them on that level even if I didn't really know the full story.

Jenny remained an open book to me and we continued to see each other. She'd gradually started to get over what Director Charles had said to her. She still told me she wasn't exactly sure how to feel about him. The vitriol had died down from her end, but she still refused to talk to him. She seemed downbeat a lot of the time, especially with that subject in mind. Apparently, she'd once been a really cheery kid and she'd seen a lot of notable higher-ups in the Association, pretty prominently during a feast that had occurred three years earlier in February, when she was two months away from turning twelve. Chayne and Ash were expected, obviously, but Charles had introduced her to the CEO of the Association, none other than Mason Summers himself. Jenny recalled he was actually a fairly stand-up fellow and chummy with her, although that may have just been courtesy of Jenny being eleven at the time. Mason was still the CEO of the most controversial – and one of the most powerful – companies in the world. He was rich, but apparently not particularly extravagant. He was apparently pretty jovial, but still dedicated to finding some semblance of a cure to the Phantom – no matter the cost. Most of all, he was a family man. Chayne was his wife and the two apparently loved each other dearly, but he and Chayne had been the subject of significant media attention – and worldwide grief – when an attempt was made on their life. It had apparently ended in the death of his daughter Aria. The frightening thing was Jenny told me the same night that had happened was the exact same night as the feast. Jenny had seen Aria, alive and well, at her parents' side. She took more after her father in appearance, with rowdy ginger hair she apparently hadn't bothered to comb before coming to the formal feast and sharp blue eyes. She was about fifteen or sixteen, a few years older than Jenny, and she'd seemed eager enough. Jenny hadn't interacted with her aside from a single glance they'd exchanged when Charles introduced Jenny to Mason. Nobody could have foretold the horrors that came after that feast.

I found that after Jenny had revealed all of that to me, Chayne had been on my mind. She usually stayed within her office – a floor above – but she was still open for questions and concerns and she was usually the speaker for every annoying presentation and assembly that occurred. She'd been genial enough from what I'd seen of her. The most we'd interacted was when she'd signed me up for the program four weeks ago. We hadn't talked much since. I considered going to her a few times to talk to her about my parents and potentially even getting out of the program, but I knew that was a lost cause anyways. I was afraid that Chayne would only offer superficial advice and support, anyways, the kind of "I'm sure your parents had a good reason for signing you up" bullshit that Ash had once half-assedly spouted to me when he caught me vocally complaining about the situation. I compared Chayne with Charles, in my mind; they'd both lost a child. They'd both apparently once been quite happy. Charles was dour as all hell, from what I knew of him now; evidently a product of circumstance. Chayne, at least, seemed to be faring decently. Then again, every book hid a deeper story under its cover. The pain of loss wouldn't simply go away, not after a year or three or ten. Even after moving on with your life, the death of a spouse or a child or someone as equally close would present a pain that would always burn the heart.

I quietly wondered to myself if my parents would even care if I died.

On the twenty-eighth day, shortly after having dinner in the cafeteria with Alice – just a shitty burrito – I decided to go along with my gut instinct. How bad would it be to just talk to Chayne? I was sure she had other things to do, but to hell with it. I couldn't stop comparing her with Charles. I was anxious to know how she'd coped with the loss of Aria. Most of all, I wondered how Jenny being forcibly signed up to the program looked like from her perspective. I knew nobody else was supposed to know Charles was Jenny's father – only Alice knew that as well, among the applicants – but my urge to blabber about all that to Chayne was inane. I was utterly sure that would screw me over and lead to me chucked into solitary or something.

At 7:43 PM, I'd waltzed out of my room, gave a passing "hi" to Charlotte, who was going to opposite direction as me, and gone up to the floor directly overhead. Chayne's office was at the end of the first hall I came to; not a far distance at all. It was open a crack and as I pressed myself up to the sleek white door, I could hear a little tune quietly being played on some old-as-crap radio, the volume jacked down to a faint level.

Well I love my baby, like the finest of wine

Stick with her 'til the end of time

She's my sweet little thing, she's my pride and joy

She's my sweet little baby, I'm her little lover boy!

Catchy. Recognized the singer after a while – the late, great, Stevie Ray Vaughan. I cracked the door open a bit. Chayne's office was, surprisingly, pretty dimly lit. The fluorescent lights installed in the ceiling weren't on, the only source of light from a flat-screen Apple-model monitor in the center of her desk. The rest of her desk was sort of just a jumble of papers and folders scrawled with writing, nothing of which I could really make out in the dim light. There was a jet-black filing cabinet at the left end of the room, cloaked in the dark for a second until I made out the gleaming silver handles of the cabinet's drawers and a nicely-patterned lamp standing a top of it. The lamp wasn't on. It wasn't even plugged in. It was a shame; what I could make out of the patterns on the lampshade was really nice on the eyes. The radio was resting on the right corner of the desk on top of some more scattered papers, poking a little precariously off the edge of the desk and the cord stuck into a socket a bit further down the room. Chayne was attending the computer, typing something in a keyboard and some black-framed reading glasses on, streaks of light from the monitor reflecting off the lenses. I awkwardly cleared my throat and edged the door open a bit with a subtle creak, which drew Chayne's attention from the screen to me. She regarded me for a second before smiling and resting her left hand off the mouse and on her knee.

"Oh, #21," she said, referring to me by my registered number rather than my name for a second. Thankfully, she corrected herself. "Jackson, yes? Come on in. Keep the door closed."

I blew a bit of hair away and walked deeper into the room, closing the door behind me and blocking out the rays of light from the hall. There were some shitty black chairs lining the bottom wall of the room, right next to me, and I took an uncomfortable seat in one. Chayne took off the reading glasses and looked at me, tilting the computer screen away from her.

"Hi, Mrs. Summers," I said. "Uh... you're free, now?"

Chayne laughed. "Don't see why I wouldn't be. Just arranging some more files for the Rapture Project. Tedious work. Something bothering you, Jackson?"

I think I sort of expected her to call me "dear" or "kid" or some other patronizing term, something I was uncomfortably used to my parents calling me – more so than my actual name. She'd used "dear" once when we were initially registering me up and I was expecting the same instead of a direct referral to my name. There was something different about her tone, here, though. She didn't seem like she was talking down to me. She regarded me as an individual and not some annoying kid through one utterance of my name. That gave me enough confidence – or, maybe, a burst of rock-headed stupidity – to go on ahead with the statement that was now buzzing around my head like a mosquito.

"...I know about Jen and Charles," I blurted out. I silently called myself a goddamned i***t before my fat mouth continued onward, almost on instinct. "You were there, right? When Charles signed Jenny up?"

Chayne's formal smile creased to a small frown. She was wearing lipstick – almost Gothic-looking black stuff – that made her expression of concern seem all the more apparent. Surprisingly, there was nothing foreboding or aggressive about the frown, as I was expecting; looking at it, I didn't expect she'd suddenly walk up to me, grab me by the hair, and throw me into solitary confinement for daring to find out what I wasn't allowed to know.

"...So Jen told you," Chayne finally said, her voice more a slight sigh than anything else. "I was expecting that. I've been looking into you two for a while. You two and #59... Alice, I believe, have been really getting along, haven't you?"

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Jenny's... trusted me with a lot of information, actually. Why aren't we all allowed to know?"

"A few reasons," Chayne said, fiddling around with the mouse and her attention now split between me and the computer screen. "Mainly, we don't want information about her being discovered as an immune being poured out so... suddenly. The Association's put years of work and billions upon billions of dollars into this project. If we terminate it now to refocus our efforts on Jenny, it would... well, it would be a massive waste of resources and cost. And God knows we've already wasted enough of that as is. But it's also to compensate Jen, a bit... We're covering this up so she doesn't get an influx of attention she doesn't want right off the bat. She's stressed, you know."

"I know she is," I said. "Being suddenly paraded as the solution to the Phantom and being forced to do all this stuff isn't really taking a good toll on her, you know."

"I know it isn't," Chayne said quietly, closing the document she was working on. "I suppose it's at least good practice to confide in someone all this information. Bottling it up isn't healthy. So thank you for listening to Jenny. You and Alice."

I smiled. Nice to actually be shown gratitude from one of the higher-ups for being a decent human being.

"It was a sudden development, you understand," Chayne said, getting up from her computer screen, plugging in the lamp, and flicking it on. "Everything was already set when we discovered Jen was an immune. Charles and Tara were astounded. My husband... was adamant we that used her in the program. Charles and Tara fought against it first, naturally, but... Charles gave in first."

"I think I know why that is," I said. "He had a son. Jason. Jen told me Charles is... desperate not to lose anyone else. He doesn't want anyone else to lose anything more to the Phantom."

I saw Chayne's eyes flicker, for a second. That brief change in them channeled an infinity of grief Chayne was burying down in her. Empathy. Understanding.

Most subtly, hatred. Hatred for something. Or someone. Or everyone.

"...You had a daughter, right, Mrs. Summers?" I inquired, knowing I was probably crossing territory I had no right to be in. "She-"

"I know," Chayne suddenly barked, shutting me up. Her tone instantly lessened and she looked at me with more fragile eyes. "That was a horrible night, Jackson. I'll never forget it. And I'm reminded of it every day."

I paused and looked down, considering her words.

"...I should tell you something, Jackson," Chayne said. "Perhaps I just need to project a bit. I sincerely doubt you're truly the person to tell this to, but... have you ever considered 'is it even worth it?' Have you ever just stopped to consider why we keep up this fight against something that is slowly and inevitably destroying us all?"

"Because we all want to live," I said. "None of us are just keen to give up and die. Survival is just basic human instinct. And we've got billions of dollars and companies like the Association working to making the human race survive."

Chayne looked down and chuckled. It was a pained, mirthless, bitter-sounding laugh that made me wince a bit. "If we consider survival valuable, then we are all hypocrites, Jackson. Look at the world around us. We are tearing ourselves apart in our bid to 'survive.' The Association has people shot in the streets and segregated into horrible, toxic quarantine zones for the crime of being infected with something they cannot control. We destroy our own loved ones so that we may survive; otherwise, Jen never would have been signed up to this project. And everyone, the masses, the crowds, the common populace, remains woefully apathetic to the c*****e going around them. Millions of people are dying, and the effect it is having on humanity is horrific. People casualize the effects of the Phantom and ignore it until it's right at their front door. The news and the media exaggerates and sensationalizes everything to a point where the mundane truth of reality is drowned out. And when the masses are affected by the Phantom – Jackson, they are reduced to their most primal instincts. My daughter was taken from me because everyone, in the name of 'survival' and 'keeping the peace' lynched my daughter and burned down my house in their panic. That is what 'survival' makes people do, Jackson. It makes people destroy themselves. Humanity is self-destructive by nature, and with that in consideration... why even bother? Maybe the Phantom is just reckoning."

I paused. That was a lot of s**t to take in. She'd started ranting, right out of nowhere, and I'd had no opportunities to interrupt. I thought about the question for a bit.

"...If this is our reckoning, Chayne," I asked, "then why have we found a cure? Why is Jen immune?"

Chayne looked at me, and sighed, finally, walking over to me and kneeling down to me. "Because God wants us to cling onto something before he wipes us off the map. He just wants to dangle something in front of our face before he just... pulls it away. Jen has been made a tool by the universe, Jackson. One fateful night, Jen stopped being an individual, and she started being a key. And I have no faith that key will unlock anything, Jackson."

I frowned. "You... don't see her that way, do you, Chayne? She's... She's more than a tool. She's a human being who doesn't want to be in this situation anymore than you or I."

A sad smile came across Chayne's face. "I know she isn't just a tool, Jackson. And I know terrible things have happened to all of us, and in some way, it's... simply beyond our control."

"Maybe this isn't as inevitable as you think, Mrs. Summers," I said, firmly. "Maybe Jen is the key we need. We can control this. That's why we've got stuff like this program, and the Association. I don't necessarily agree with what they do, but... it's something, isn't it?"

Chayne looked into me, for a second. Her smile remained wide, trembling a bit. I swear her eyes started to water for a moment before she spoke up. "You have optimism, Jackson..." she mused. "Even innocence, I dare call it. I'd call it naive, but you've already experienced some of these world's cruelties, haven't you? So you're not simply speaking out of some misplaced belief borne from your young mind."

"Well, I can relate to being called a tool, Mrs. Summers," I said, sort of shrugging. "That's how my parents treat me, every day of my life. That's why I'm here. That's why Jen is here, too. But I don't want us all to go out with a whimper. I'll do what I need to do, Mrs. Summers... if it means getting any closer to conquering this stupid virus. And aren't you doing yours by helping to manage this program, Mrs. Summers?"

Chayne nodded to herself, as if she was trying to assure herself of something. "There's a lot I wish I could tell you, Jackson. A lot. I regret not being able to tell you. I truly do."

I didn't respond. I didn't really know how to respond to something that cryptic.

Chayne finally stood up straighter. "I'm sorry you had to hear all that, Jackson. That day was a painful one, and that pain hasn't and never will leave. As I said before... bottling it up isn't exactly healthy to one's affairs."

"You can say that again," I said, grunting a bit.

"Regardless, Jen will continue to serve her role in the experiment, I will continue to supervise it, and everything will go as it was planned to go. I'm truly sorry, but we cannot let anyone else know that Jen is Director Charles' daughter."

I frowned, again. "...At least talk to Jen about this, some time," I requested.

"I would, and I am tempted to," Chayne said, "but she wouldn't be as sincere with me as she is with someone like you. I've seen how she acts and I know she's reticent about her feelings. You'll have to do that for me."

"That's what I've been doing," I said. "Not planning on doing anything else."

Chayne walked back to her desk, and leaned back in her chair, eyeing the computer screen. "Good. Thank you. I can tell you... it hurt Charles so much when he appointed Jen to this program. She used to be such a sprightly thing, back then. I can still remember her cute little exuberance during the night of the celebratory feast. I wanted to introduce Aria to her, but Aria wasn't interested. Said she was too young and annoying for her tastes."

I laughed, somewhat awkwardly. "Well... way for her to be blunt about it."

Chayne chuckled, again. It sounded more sincere. "That always how Aria was, you know. She loved speaking her mind. Never hesitated with anything."

"...Sorry if this is more personal," I suddenly started, a pang of curiosity motivating me to dig in further, "but... why was she lynched?"

Chayne's eyes once again flickered. "A few weeks before the feast, we had a sample of her blood taken because we were... a little concerned with her physical health. We got the results back on the night of the feast. Her blood was abnormal. Unhealthy. They said it was similar to a sample of someone infected with the Phantom. It wasn't quite that – but somehow, word of that got loose and... the truth was distorted. The neighborhood quickly panicked." She sighed. "Things lost themselves from there. They never found my daughter's body... said it was either taken by one of the people who ransacked my old house or it burned in the flames."

I was quiet, for a second, as Chayne lowered her head slightly in mournful silence. "I'm... so sorry, Mrs. Summers," I said, as gently as I could.

"As I've heard before," Chayne said. "Words can't heal the pain, Jackson. They might provide a very temporary reprieve, from the right lips and with the right tone, but... they are ultimately ineffectual. Thank you for the sentiment, regardless."

Cold. I couldn't blame her, at least; how many times had she heard a shallow "sorry for your loss?" Might as well just say "sucks to be you, hah." At least you'd be a little more honest.

"Don't mention it, Mrs. Summers," I said. "Thank you for sharing. I'll... keep Jen's identity to myself. Alice has already sealed their lips."

Chayne looked back up at me, perking up a bit. "Our little secret, then?"

"Our little secret."