Caeli Widger - Mother of Invention

He’d never been able to hate them either.

Viv’s breath changed slightly, for a moment, becoming audible, and he watched her mouth move, her lips parting and closing several times in succession, as if she were preparing to swallow something. He parted the dark shade over his bed to let the gray of the night infiltrate the room, illuminating her. Outside was the glow of streetlights but no stars or moon; a bluish haze blotted the sky and the Charles River beyond the trees. He’d let the bruised light of earliest morning in to photograph her over the past months, her deepest sleep being ideal for the full-body shots required by the Inner Panel. But he didn’t need to photograph her anymore.

He just needed to move her.

But he kept freezing.

Not that he didn’t register what was happening to her. The meaning of it loomed over him every minute, a low, toxic fog. He closed his eyes and drifted his right hand to the top of Viv’s pillow, hovering it over her head. He thought again of Irene and the long mornings he’d spent in her blue-and-white kitchen in Austin, the sun blooming through the windows. The coffee and zucchini bread between them on the table, the smoky baritone of Leonard Cohen on the speakers. How close to her he’d felt then, like she was his only true friend in the world. Irene loved Leonard, especially in the morning: he’s like going to church, without all the bullshit, she’d told Wayne when he was Henry.

Wayne lowered his hand to the top of Viv’s head and pressed his fingertips down lightly. It never felt entirely permissible, touching her cleft, but he couldn’t help himself. Still, four months into this assignment, he had the irrational, impossible hope that somehow the cleft would disappear. That it would have all been a magnificent error, these past months, and he and Viv could move on in the world, like regular people, together.

But it was there, beneath the springy coils of her hair: the dent in her scalp. He rested his middle fingertips against it and closed his eyes. He was almost asleep when he felt the vibration from his phone, a shudder near his head. He picked it up and looked. A text from Borlav: Call now.

Wayne sat straight up, instantly awake. You were not told to call Borlav in the middle of the night for a minor reason. Quietly he stepped to his dresser and pulled on gym pants and a sweatshirt, laced up his running sneakers. Before he left, he pulled the comforter up to Viv’s chin. Smoothed her hair off her face and kissed her cheek.

Outside, moonlight bled through the sycamore trees lining the sidewalk and played on the surface of the river beyond. The night air was cool on his face. He tapped a spot on his device and lifted it to his ear.

Borlav picked up before Wayne heard a ring. “Theroux. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“It’s two in the morning here, Borlav. You woke me. Let’s hear it.”

“Our IP meeting just wrapped. It went very late, needless to say. Bottom line is, you need to import Vivian Bourne a-sap.”

“That’s what you’re waking me up for? To give me a directive I already have? I’m working on it, Gary. I’ll have her there soon.”

“Soon isn’t fast enough. Her LikeMe posts have become too problematic. She’s sucked her other little buddies into her conspiracy theories.”

“‘Conspiracy theories’?” Wayne couldn’t suppress a bitter laugh. “You mean that time Dewey Falk and a bunch of other bribe-taking motherfuckers blew off proper testing of a dirty drug and let a bunch of women and children take the hit?”

“Don’t be a drama queen. Dewey was in a tough spot during a tough time. Juva was an accident.”

“An accident , Gary? Fast-tracking the approval of an undertested, ultraprofitable drug? So that Dewey could push more dirty agendas through? So he could keep making rich people richer and everyone else more scared and confused? So he could guarantee all his buddies in Washington that Big Pharma had their backs? Let’s not forget that BetterLife is the most profitable pharmaceutical company in history . Or that it was the single biggest donor to both of Falk’s campaigns.”

“Settle down, Michael Moore.”

“Fuck you, Borlav. Juva was golden from the get-go. BetterLife predicted it would be the bestselling drug of all time. Genius, wasn’t it? A little pill that could extend a woman’s peak fertility into her forties and fifties? What’s not to like? President Falk sure as shit liked it.”

“Are you done yet?”

“So it was such a bummer when Juva had those pesky little side effects, wasn’t it? Just little inconveniences, really, like, oh, making women have their babies way too fast. Or start aging way too early. Or sometimes a combination of the two. And if they’re extra lucky, their kids might get hit with symptoms also. They should’ve named it Juva Roulette .”

“Catchy,” said Borlav. “You may have missed your calling in advertising.”

“Why do we have to clean up this mess, Gary? Why didn’t the FDA discontinue Juva sooner? Why did it wait all those months before pulling the plug? This could have all been avoided. I could be doing something decent with my life.”

Borlav ignored him. “Now Bourne’s pulling Tessa Callahan into the mix.”

“Tessa Callahan?” Now Wayne was confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Evidently Bourne had a little bonding session with Callahan last month, when they were both on the Weldon campus. Now Callahan’s invited Bourne out to visit her weird-science palace in California, and Bourne’s going, with a plan to tell Callahan everything she’s dug up on AG. It’s all on LikeMe, if you care to look.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“It’s too risky. Callahan and her whole operation are supposed to divert attention from people like Vivian Bourne. Callahan’s a big name. If she wants people to listen to Bourne, all she has to do is open her mouth. We’re not willing to let that happen. And by that I mean you’re not going to let that happen.”

Wayne felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He sat down in the grass by the river and put his head between his knees, still holding his phone to his ear, listening to Borlav breathe on the other end.

“Four days, Theroux,” said Borlav. “That’s when Bourne is set to fly to California. You’d better deliver her to the Colony before that. So help you God if she steps on that flight to San Jose.”

“Four days is too soon.”

“Love must be scrambling your brain, Theroux.”

“Excuse me?”

“Love. Or maybe it’s just lust. We all know you’re banging Vivian Bourne. Winger and Hurst and me. It’s obvious. We could practically smell it on you when you gave your preso on her.”

Wayne gnashed his teeth. “That’s none of your business.”

“My retirement is my business. The success of the ISA is my business. And your behavior, which includes inappropriate relations with your PIT, is threatening that success. You think I want to be doing this anymore, Theroux? I want out just as much as you do. But I took a vow to complete this goddamn mission, a vow to protect everyone involved. So did you. We got into this together and we’ll get out of it together. But it won’t work unless you get your focus back. So cut procrastinating, get Vivian Bourne to the Colony, and maybe you’ll stand a chance of a brand-new life.”

“You know I’m right, Gary. You’re a fixer. I’m a fixer. Together we’ve helped an American president and a major federal agency avoid public shaming and probable disbandment. Aren’t you proud?”

“You’re out of your fucking mind. Get Bourne out here right now. Do whatever it takes. You have four days, Theroux, or your retirement turns into a pumpkin. You can kiss it goodbye.”