Робин Кук - Mutation

Victor looked at VJ. “Scared you, huh, Tiger?”

“I think that’s obvious,” VJ said. “It would have scared anyone.”

“I know,” Victor said. “I’m sorry you’re getting the brunt of all this, what with the phone call last night and the brick tonight. I’m sure you don’t understand, but I’ve some personnel problems at the lab. I’ll try to do something to keep this kind of thing from happening.”

“It doesn’t matter,” VJ said.

“I appreciate you being a good sport about it,” Victor said. “Come on, let’s talk to the police.”

“The police won’t do anything,” VJ said. But he got up and started downstairs.

Victor followed. He agreed, but he was surprised that at age ten, VJ knew it too.

The North Andover police were polite and solicitous. A Sergeant Widdicomb and Patrolman O’Connor had responded to the call. Widdicomb was at least sixty-five, with florid skin and a huge beer belly. O’Connor was just the opposite: he was in his twenties and looked like an athlete. Widdicomb did all the talking.

When Victor and VJ arrived in the foyer, Widdicomb was reading the note while O’Connor fingered the brick. Widdicomb handed the note back to Marsha. “What a dad-blasted awful thing,” he said. “Used to be that this kinda stuff only happened in Boston, not out here.” Widdicomb took out a pad, licked the end of a pencil and started taking notes. He asked the expected questions, like the time it happened, if they saw anyone, whether the lights had been on in the boy’s room. VJ quickly lost interest and disappeared into the kitchen.

After he ran out of questions, Widdicomb asked if they could take a gander around the yard.

“Please,” Marsha said, motioning toward the door.

After the police left, Marsha turned to Victor. “Last night you told me not to worry about the threatening call, that you would look into it.”

“I know...” Victor said guiltily. She waited for Victor to continue. But he didn’t.

“A threatening phone call is one thing,” Marsha said. “A brick through our child’s window is quite another. I told you I couldn’t handle any more surprises. I think you better give me some idea of these office problems you mentioned.”

“Fair enough,” Victor said. “But let me get a drink. I think I could use one.”

VJ had the Johnny Carson show on in the family room and was watching, his head propped up against his arm. His eyes had a glazed look.

“Are you okay?” Marsha called from the doorway to the kitchen.

“Fine,” VJ said without turning his head.

“I think we should let him unwind,” Marsha said, directing her attention to Victor, who was busy making them a hot rum drink.

Mugs in hand, they sat down at the kitchen table. In capsule form, Victor highlighted the controversy with Ronald, the negotiations with Gephardt’s attorney, Sharon Carver’s threats, and the unfortunate situation with Hurst. “So there you have it,” he concluded. “A normal week at the office.”

Marsha mulled over the four troublemakers. Aside from Ronald, she guessed any of the other three could be guilty of acting out.

“What about this note?” she asked. “What deal is it referring to?”

Victor took a drink, put the mug on the table, then reached across and took the note. He studied it for a moment, then said, “I haven’t the slightest idea. I haven’t made any deals with anyone.” He tossed the paper onto the table.

“Somebody must have thought you had,” Marsha said.

“Look, anyone capable of throwing a rock through our window is capable of fantasizing some mythical deal. But I’ll get in touch with each of them and make sure they know that we are not going to sit idly by and allow them to throw bricks through our windows.”

“What about hiring some security?” Marsha asked.

“It’s an idea,” Victor said. “But let me make these calls tomorrow. I have a feeling that it will solve this problem.”

The doorbell sounded again.

“I’ll get it,” said Victor. He put his mug on the table and left the kitchen.

Marsha got up and went into the family room. The TV was still on but Johnny Carson had changed to David Letterman. It was that late. VJ was fast asleep. Turning off the TV, Marsha looked at her son. He looked so peaceful. There was no hint of the intense hostility that he’d displayed earlier. Oh God, she thought, what had Victor’s experiment done to her darling baby?

The front door banged shut, and Victor came in saying, “The police didn’t find anything. They just said they’d try to watch the house best they could over the next week or so.” Then he looked down at VJ. “I see he has recovered.”

“I wish,” Marsha said wistfully.

“Oh, come on now,” Victor said. “I don’t want a lecture about his hostility and all that bull.”

“Maybe he was really upset when his IQ fell,” she said, following her own train of thought. “Can you imagine what kind of self-esteem loss the boy probably suffered when his special abilities evaporated?”

“The kid was only three and a half,” Victor pleaded.

“I know you don’t agree with me,” Marsha said, looking back at the sleeping boy. “But I’m terrified. I can’t believe your genetic experiment didn’t affect his future.”

The following morning the temperature had climbed to nearly sixty degrees by nine o’clock. The sun was out and Victor had both front windows open in the car as well as the sunroof. The air was fragrant with the earthy aroma that presaged spring. Victor pressed the accelerator and let the car loose on the short straightaways.

He glanced over at VJ, who seemed fully recovered from the previous night. He had his arm out the window and was playing with the wind with his open hand. It was a simple gesture, but so normal. Victor could remember doing it many times when he was VJ’s age.

Looking at his son, Victor couldn’t rid himself of Marsha’s fears. He seemed fine, but could the implant have affected his development? VJ was a loner. In that regard he certainly didn’t take after anyone else in the family.

“What’s your friend Richie like?” Victor asked suddenly.

VJ shot him a look that was midway between vexation and disbelief. “You sound like Mother,” he said.

Victor laughed. “I suppose I do. But really, what kinda kid is this Richie? How come we haven’t met him?”

“He’s okay,” VJ said. “I see him every day at school. I don’t know, we have different interests when we’re at home. He watches a lot of TV.”

“If you two want to go into Boston this week, I’ll have someone from the office drive you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” VJ said. “I’ll see what Richie says.”

Victor settled back into his seat. Obviously the kid had friends. He made a mental note to remind Marsha about Richie that evening.

The moment Victor pulled into his parking space, Philip’s hulking form appeared in front of the car as if by magic. Seeing VJ, a smile broke across his face. He grabbed the front of the car and gave it a shake.

“Good gravy,” Victor said.

VJ jumped out of the car and gave the man a punch on the arm. Philip pretended to fall, backing up a few steps, clutching his arm. VJ laughed and the two started off.

“Wait a second, VJ,” Victor called. “Where are you going?”

VJ turned and shrugged. “I don’t know. The cafeteria or the library. Why? You want me to do something?”

“No,” Victor said. “I just want to be sure you stay away from the river. This warm weather is only going to make it rise higher.”

In the background Victor could hear the roar of the water going over the spillway.

“Don’t worry,” VJ said. “See you later.”