“The doctor had done all kinds of experiments. You can guess,” said Dylan, looking disturbed by the memories. “But he had the means to put beings into stasis, to hold them until he was ready for them, or whatever.”
I refused to have hope, refused to even think about it. “For God’s sake, Dylan. What are we doing here? Just—tell me.”
Dylan gestured to the bed. “That’s Fang. And… I can make him live.”
93
“WHAT…” WORDS FAILED me. That happened very rarely.
“Actually, it’s up to you,” Dylan said. “This is Fang, and he’s in stasis. His body healed itself, mostly, but his wing… well, it was gone. I’ve given him a new wing. It’s artificial but looks and feels just like the real thing. He’ll be able to fly.”
My head was spinning, and actually, the room was, too, a little bit. Abruptly I sat down on a lab stool, gripping the nearby table even harder. I just couldn’t take it in.
“What are you saying?” My words were barely audible.
“Experiments and artificial… parts. I know you hate it, hated everything that Jeb and the doctor did,” Dylan said. “And here I am, doing the same thing. But—I did it for you. Because I love you. I did it because this was Fang, and you love him. So I’m giving you a choice: Do you want me to complete the process? Or would it be better to let him go, the way he should have? Would you still want him, with an artificial wing?”
My eyes felt as big as moons
as I stared at Dylan. “Is he a cyborg?” My mouth moved but hardly any sound came out.
“No. It’s like a person having an artificial leg,” Dylan said.
“He would be alive? And—and normal?”
Dylan nodded slowly. “Flesh and blood and brooding silences, the whole lot.”
“I would want him,” I said. “I would want him, wings or no wings, arms or no arms, eyes or no eyes…”
For a long moment, Dylan looked steadily at me.
“Dylan—I’m going to have Fang’s baby.” That was hard—it was like a light went out in Dylan’s eyes. I felt terrible, seeing that this was the final blow, the thing Dylan would never be able to pretend away.
“Congratulations,” he said quietly, his voice cracking. Then he coughed and nodded. “Okay, let’s do this.”
It was like being in a sci-fi movie, watching Dylan wheel in equipment, flip big switches, instruments jumping. He put diodes all over Fang’s still form. I was horrified by my decision, but I knew that even if Fang were a zombie, I would want him, and I would take care of him and protect him for the rest of my life.
Finally Dylan double-checked everything and nodded again. He came to me, and on his face were a calm acceptance and a sweet honesty that I would remember for the rest of my life.
“I love you,” he said.
“I know. I love you, too, but not—”
“I know. It’s okay. I just—want you to forgive me.”
“For what?”
Dylan didn’t answer, just took my face in his hands, so gently, and kissed my forehead. “Good-bye, my love.”
“Good-bye? What do you mean—”
And before I could move, Dylan grabbed a knot of wires in one hand and flicked the last switch. The lights in the room blinked on and off, there was a horrible buzzing, crackling sound, and I saw Dylan’s body spasming as thousands of volts of electricity surged through him.…
And into Fang.
On the hospital bed, Fang’s body arced once, then fell back. In the flickering lights I saw one of his hands twitch, his fingers curl. Dylan slumped to the floor, his eyes wide and still, his face slack except for the slightest smile on his lips. He was dead. He had killed himself so that Fang would live. He had killed himself for me.
I began to scream, and was still screaming a minute later when Kate and Holden burst into the room.