Lovely Darkness (Creeping Beautiful)

“Well, it’s got your name on it. So before I start drawing conclusions, maybe you’d like to take a look?”

I offer him the envelope front side up so he can see his name written in out-of-date longhand. But he doesn’t immediately reach for it. Instead he sighs. “Here’s something about me most people don’t know. I can’t stand a fuckin’ mystery. I don’t like looking for answers. I like solving problems, Adam. I like finishing things and tying it all up in a neat little bow. So why don’t you cut the theatrics and just tell me what the hell it says.”

I cannot stop my smile. “It’s a lot of things, Nick.” I open the envelope, since he’s not gonna oblige me, and then pull out the stack of papers. “This wasn’t the only thing in the coffin. There were birth and death certificates too.”

“Fake ID’s?”

“That’s what Maggie said too. And it’s a logical conclusion. But there’s more to the story.”

He grabs the stack of papers right out of my hand—apparently, theatrics are the quickest way to shorten Nick’s temper—then scans the first page. His eyes narrow. Then he rolls them as he holds the papers up for me like he’s about to start presenting a case and this is his exhibit A. “The flu? This is about the fuckin’ flu? Who cares?”

“No. That’s what I first thought too. I was thinking, OK. So the Company was responsible for the Spanish Flu. I think we all kinda knew that. But that’s not what it was. The flu happened, millions died, but it wasn’t the flu they died from. It was the vaccine.”

Nick looks at the papers again, flips a couple pages, then looks up at me. “Well, fuck. Johnny Boston’s woman wasn’t the first, was she?”

“Not even runner-up. They’ve been doing genetic experiments on humans for at least two hundred years.”

“That’s not even possible. I’m no expert in this shit, but I do know that genetics is a relatively new science.”

“Is it, Nick? Is it?”

He lets out a long, tired breath. “Fuck, I dunno.”

I take the papers out of his hands, flip back to the second page, and hand it to him. “Look at this.”

He scans it, eyes stopping on the parts that matter, then looks back up at me. “So.” He exhales. “We really are related?” He holds the pedigree up so I can see it.

“We’re on the same generation, so I guess we are.”

“But there are like”—he does a quick count—“thirty-four other people on that same generation. And who are the parents?”

I shrug. “Assembly line reproduction? And parents? Can we even call them parents?”

He looks back down at the pedigree. “And does it matter?”

“We’re on the same generation, so I’m assuming this is but one… lab, or whatever. We both came out of here.”

“Wait. Where’s Harper’s name?”

“There are no females on this chart.”

“Why?”

“We’d have to ask Donovan. But I think this was just a stud book.”

This makes him smile, then shake his head. “Why is life so fucked up?”

Maybe it’s not a serious question? Maybe he’s just thinking out loud. But I answer anyway. “Greed. Anger. Gluttony. Arrogance. Lust. Envy. Sloth.”

“The seven deadly sins. It’s just that simple, huh?”

I nod. “It just is.”

“All right. What do I do with this?”

“I have no idea.”

“And why is my name on the envelope? I didn’t know your father.”

“Well, apparently he knew you.”

“Is this some kind of clue, then? Or some stupid secret that no longer matters?”

I think about this for a moment. Because I hadn’t really considered the idea that maybe none of this matters. Maybe… this secret is old. Or maybe, this secret stopped being secret a decade back? “Well, this was part of the reason I wanted Donovan to live. I wanted to ask him. I found this stuff right before all that shit went down, so I never got the chance.”

“And do you still want to ask him? I mean. Does any of this shit really matter? You’re the one in charge now. It only matters if you make it matter.”

I look up at Nick and shake my head. “Ya know, I’m not really sure about the first part. But the second part—what am I really in charge of, Nick? Hm? A bunch of leftover assassins. Taking out some hold-out small-town Company assholes?” I hold up the folder. “Because I don’t do any of this shit. I don’t have any labs, I don’t own any scientists, and I don’t have some secret operation going on in some out of way place. I mean, not even I know what happens down in Antarctica. So what am I really in charge of? And the only people who care if Donovan lives or dies are all right here in this house. Would the world end if he died?”

“Well, he’d definitely take some secrets to the grave with him.”