Final Life: Book One in the Transhuman Chronicles

CHAPTER TWENTY

  I awoke the next morning around eight to a chill in my bones. I huddled under my covers, realizing that a cold front must’ve blown in. The unpredictable Houston weather drove me crazy, and so did my messed up life.

  I didn’t want to die…not anymore.

  Today I needed to cut all ties to Trent. It wasn’t fair to keep him hanging on. He deserved so much more than me. More importantly, he deserved to live.

  I studied my palms. The cuts had closed and scabs had formed. They still ached, but not as much as before. And then I thought of Abigail—the way she had touched my cross, how she told me that my parents had hidden Huxley’s journal in the ocean by the tree, and the way she looked at Trent.

  None of it made sense.

  I flung the covers off my bed and grabbed a sweatshirt from the stack of clothes on the chair. Rice—Trent’s sweatshirt. The place where Julian Huxley taught biology. What were the odds of Trent having a Rice sweatshirt when suddenly Rice meant something more to me than just being a university in Houston?

  My heart sped up. The coincidence had to mean something. I called Infiniti.

  "Hey, how ya doing?" I asked.

  "Shitty." She gave a loud sigh. "I’m stuck here with my mom, and she’s trying to like hang with me or something. Thinks I’m depressed about Veronica dying."

  Guilt rippled through me. "It sounds like she’s just worried about you, Infiniti. You should give her a try, ya know? I mean, it is Christmas after all."

  "Dude, I’m Jewish," she said with a laugh.

  I laughed back. "I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Besides, you know what I mean."

  "Yeah, I know. She’s just getting on my last nerve."

  I’d give anything to have my mom bugging me, anything for her and my dad to be safe. "Hey, I borrowed a Rice sweatshirt from Trent. Is that where he’s going next year?"

  "Uh yeah, you didn’t hear? He got a full scholarship."

  I gulped. "He did?"

  "Yep, he’s top of the class right now. Numero uno."

  The fact that he was going to Rice, the place where Julian Huxley taught, had to mean something. I hung up with Infiniti right away.

  Trent, Rice, Abigail, and Huxley were all connected. But how? I slipped the Rice sweatshirt over my white tank, put on some white sweats, and tiptoed downstairs to the study so Farrell wouldn’t hear me. I didn’t want him to know that Trent linked to Abigail and Huxley because that would only jeopardize Trent, which was the last thing I wanted.

  On Dad’s computer I typed "Julian Huxley Biologist" and clicked to an image search.

  The screen filled with black and white pictures. The first one was him in his early twenties. Thin and well-groomed, he had short hair on the sides but a little poofy on top. He wore round wire glasses, and a three-piece suit. The second picture was him on the grass with his two kids on his lap. Another was him as a boy on the lap of his grandfather. There were a few of him older, maybe in his sixties. Even a picture of him as a young man all decked out in his army uniform.

  Finally, I came across a black and white picture of a group of people sitting on blankets having a picnic. I clicked it and recognized the building in the background right away—Rice. On one blanket sat Huxley and a young woman. Huxley wore a suit. The woman wore a white dress, white gloves, and a hat. Huxley looked to be in his forties, the woman in her twenties. On another blanket sat a Hispanic lady who wore a dark dress with a white apron with two kids on either side. I froze. My eyes studied the kids’ faces. My breathing stopped. It was Abigail, and a kid who looked just like Trent.

  Farrell tapped on the doorframe. I immediately closed the page. My heart pounded. My stomach tightened, but I tried to act normal.

  He wore black pajama bottoms, and a tight white t-shirt. He leaned against the door, his lean physique almost as tall as the door. He walked over and took my hand away from my hair.

  "What’s up?" he asked.

  "I, uh, just talked to Infiniti. She’s having a rough day." I got up. "I’m gonna go check on her. I promise I won’t be long."

  "Dominique, I can’t let you go," he said.

  Heat flushed my body. "I am not going to be a prisoner in my own house, Farrell. Okay? And with two days left to live, what can go wrong at this point?"

  I hurried out of the room, went upstairs, then changed clothes. Farrell was trying to protect me, but I didn’t care anymore. I needed to find out two things. First, who was that kid in the picture with Abigail who looked just like Trent? Second, how were Abigail and that kid connected to Trent?

  While I didn’t want to put Trent in danger, I needed to see him. Taking my mom’s car would only make Farrell suspicious, but then I thought of Infiniti. She could take me to his house. I grabbed the Rice sweatshirt, folded it, and tucked it under my arm. Returning the sweatshirt would be my excuse to bring up Rice.

  My stomach tied in a giant knot as I walked to Infiniti’s. When I passed Jan’s, I saw a "For Sale" sign in her yard. I stopped, half-expecting her to walk out, but she didn’t. She mentioned seeing me again when we spoke at the lake. But when?

  "Sucks, doesn’t it."

  I spun around. Infiniti was crossing the street to meet me. I exhaled, relieved to see her. "Yeah, it totally sucks," I said.

  We stared at the house. My face grew cold, and my nose started to run. "Hey," I said. "I need to see Trent real quick. Mind giving me a ride?"

  "No problem. Come on."

  Before we went into her house, she brought her finger to her lips and whispered, "My mom’s taking a nap."

  We tiptoed in, got her purse, and went out the back door to the garage. I paused, thinking she’d stop for a smoke, but she didn’t.

  She answered my puzzled stare. "I’m trying to cut back. Ya know, cleaning up my act especially now that I've been seeing someone."

  "Oh yeah? Who? And why didn’t you tell me?"

  She wrinkled her nose. "Dude, please don't think I'm sick. It just happened. I swear I didn't plan it."

  I leaned against the car. "Infiniti, I have no idea what you're talking about."

  She brought her hand to her mouth and started chewing her fingernails. "Don't judge, okay?"

  "Um, okay..."

  She spit out what must've been a fingernail. "It's Billy. I'm seeing Billy Weber now." She cringed, waiting for my response.

  I had never understood the attraction between Veronica and Billy. They were total opposites. But Infiniti and Billy? Now that made sense. They were so much alike: funny, popular, and easygoing. It shouldn't matter that Veronica's death had brought them together. I mean, why couldn't two people come together during a time of sorrow?

  "Hey, I think it's great. He's a great guy, and you guys go really well together."

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. I even think Veronica would approve. After all, she was your friend. I'm sure she'd want you to be happy."

  Her shoulders relaxed. "See? That's what I was thinking." She gave me a quick hug. "Thanks for being so cool."

  Once in the car, she shoved three sticks of cinnamon gum in her mouth. The smell made my mouth water, and I realized I hadn’t eaten any breakfast. "So where to?" she asked. "Trent's house?"

  Trent had said he’d be working all break, but since it was Christmas Day, I thought for sure he’d be home. "Yeah, his house. I just want to return his sweatshirt."

  We winded our way out of my wooded neighborhood with newer brick homes and lakes and into his—an older neighborhood less than a mile away. When we got to his house, I hesitated before getting out. What would I say to him? I ran my hand over the soft cotton sweatshirt.

  "Okay, what gives?" Infiniti asked, smacking her gum.

  Everything Trent had ever done for me filled my thoughts. The way he played with my hair and my fingers. The kiss at Infiniti’s that he wouldn’t remember because I had almost gotten him killed and Farrell had erased his memory. His tenderness at church when I had fainted. He needed to stay away from me—he and Infiniti both. After
today, after I returned his sweatshirt and tried to find out about that picture, I would never see either one of them again. It was the only way to assure their safety.

  "I just need to move on, I guess. Ya know, start cutting ties before the end of the year when everybody goes their separate ways."

  Infiniti paused mid-chew. "Whoa, are you breaking up with him? On Christmas Day? That’s beyond brutal, dude."

  I had never thought of us as being officially a couple, but I guess he did. Maybe everyone else, too. "Well, we’re really not together. We’re just friends."

  Her eyes went wide, her mouth hung open, and her gum fell out and landed on her jeans. "For real?" She put her gum back in her mouth. "I mean, you’re not believing your own bullshit, are you?"

  I opened the car door. "I know what I’m doing." At least, I hoped I knew what I was doing. "Just wait here a minute."

  When I got to the front door, doubt flooded me. What was I doing here? Infiniti was right, I couldn’t do this. I turned to leave when the door opened.

  "Hey!" Trent said. He wore tattered navy sweats, had his running shoes on and iPod in hand. He pulled out his earbuds. "I wasn’t expecting you."

  "Sorry. I should’ve called before coming over. Were you heading out for a run?"

  "Yeah, but it can wait," he said. "What's up?"

  "Well, um, I can’t stay anyway. Infiniti just brought me by so I could return this." I gave him the Rice sweatshirt. "I, um, didn’t know you were going to Rice."

  "Yep, it’s a family tradition of sorts. My dad, grandfather, and great grandfather all worked at Rice as groundskeepers. I’m breaking Avila tradition and going as a student."

  That was it. The little boy in the picture with Abigail had to have been Trent’s grandfather. I touched the cross at my neck and rubbed the stone between my fingers. His grandfather was Abigail’s friend. It had to mean something, but what? It was almost as if Abigail was stalking me. First with Trent’s grandfather, and then with Jan when she told Jan to move to Houston. Panic soared inside me.

  "Hey," he said. "You wanna do something later? Maybe go to the movies?"

  Nobody was safe around me, especially him. As much as I wanted to be with him, I knew I couldn’t, not anymore. Even if it meant he’d hate me. "Trent, I’m going back North for college, and you’re staying here. We should probably just…" I shrugged my shoulders, trying to figure out what to say next. "…Stop hanging out."

  He backed up. "Are you serious?"

  I started to unclasp my necklace to give it back. "I’m sorry, Trent. It’s just easier this way."

  He held out his hand and stopped me. "Keep it," he said. He tossed the sweatshirt at me. "This, too. And stay the hell away from me."

  Shocked, I stood there while he jogged out of view. Tears filled my eyes. I dropped the sweatshirt on the porch and went back to Infiniti’s car.

  "He did not just throw that sweatshirt in your face!" she said, chewing her gum fast. "Who the hell does he think he is?" She jerked the car in gear like she wanted to speed up to him and run him over.

  I put my hand on her arm. "Infiniti, I deserved it." I hated myself for doing that to him. "Let’s go," I said.

  A huge lump formed in my throat.

  Back home, I headed straight for my room, shut the door, and sat on the edge of my bed. I clutched my knees, my breathing rapid while my body trembled. My ocean blue walls reminded me of Trent’s eyes. I wanted to tear them down, wanted to erase all trace of him. And then I thought of the snow globe he had given me. I grabbed it, ready to smash it to bits, but instead tossed it under my bed.

  Did he seriously throw that sweatshirt in my face! How could he!

  I needed to calm down and pull myself together. The beach—thinking of the beach back home at Elk Rapids always relaxed me. I forced an image of the still blue water in my brain, but it wouldn’t hold. Instead, my attention drifted to the tree outside my window—bare and stiff. Irritated, I brought my gaze back to my ocean- colored walls. Then I noticed the vent at the top of my ceiling right by the window.

  "Farrell!"

  He came in quick. I pointed to my walls. "My walls are the ocean." I pointed to my window. "And there is the tree." Lastly, I pointed to the vent.

  Together we said, "In the ocean by the tree."

  He brought a chair up against the wall, stood on it, and opened the vent. He stuck his arm in, patted around for a moment, when a look of discovery came over his face. He brought the book out.

  "We’ve got it," he said.

  All this time my parents had hidden the book right under my nose, here at home where my Walker protected me. And since he protected me, he also protected the book. My hands shook. Maybe I could really live. Maybe I didn’t have to die after all.

  Farrell and I sat on my bed. Before opening the journal, he set it down on my nightstand then looked me straight in the eye. "We go through this book together, okay?" His eyes narrowed a little. "No more secrets, Dominique. We don’t have time for secrets."

  Powerless, I could only control what nobody else knew. Right now, nobody knew about my feelings for Trent or his connection to Abigail and Huxley. I had to protect Trent at all costs. It was the least I could do after what I had just done to him. Plus, I didn’t know what, if anything, had happened between Farrell and me in our past lives. If there was something there, then I didn't want him to know how much Trent meant to me.

  "Okay, no more secrets," I said.

  The water-stained ink smeared across the pages. We stared at the letters, trying to make out the words. Between the two of us, we were able to figure out how Huxley met Abigail and discovered her powers.

  In 1929, thirteen years after leaving his teaching position in Houston, Huxley met and fell in love with a young American girl while on a cruise. He left his wife and England and came back to the United States hoping to marry the girl and resume teaching at Rice. Neither happened. He did, however, receive permission to conduct studies at Rice.

  "I roam the grounds, observing native Texan birds, insects, and just about any creature that will take my mind off my sorrow of losing the affection of my young American love. For my sorrow is deep, and if I let it get away from me, I may not return from the depths of despair upon which I have found myself on many occasion."

  "Farrell, Huxley was lovesick," I said. "Maybe even depressed." Suddenly I connected with Huxley because I too knew what it was like to want something that I couldn’t have.

  The journal went on to describe the different animals he studied. Suddenly his writing became scribbled and hurried.

  "This brown-haired boy and fair-haired girl of just six years play every day in the quadrangle, sometimes supervised by the father of the boy who tends to the grounds. They are interesting to watch, and on this one occasion, when the boy fell from a tree, the girl rushed to his aid. With a touch to his chest, it appears she brought him back from death’s door. But how? This I must discover, for in her there must be a power not yet identified."

  I almost dropped the book. "Abigail saved—" I almost said Trent’s grandfather, but stopped myself, "—the boy. That’s how Huxley discovered her abilities."

  "It appears that way," Farrell said. "But what happened to Abigail?"

  We read on.

  "The boy and girl readily came to my quarters in exchange for treats. There I performed brain tests, which I called thinking games. The girl correctly guessed every shape on the other side of each card I showed her. And the boy…he did not appear afraid at all, but stood close to her, almost like a protector of sorts. I must discover the secrets that lie within her brain and have heard of a new method to monitor electrical activity along the scalp. This method, called electroencephalography, or EEG, has been introduced by German physiologist and psychiatrist Hans Berger. Upon successful contact with Mr. Berger, I can use this machine to measure the voltage fluctuation resulting from ionic current flows within the neuron of her brain."

  My body tensed. "Farrell, he tricked
them into going to his place, and he studied her brain."

  Farrell’s brow furrowed, his jaw clenched. "They trusted him."

  I didn’t want to read the rest because I knew it couldn’t be good. But we had to know what happened to Abigail. We had to know the truth.

  "I successfully secured the use of an EEG machine and told the girl the machine would draw a picture of her brain waves. The boy attempted to dissuade the girl from participating, but she had nothing of it, proclaiming her desire to proceed."

  "Farrell, she wanted to be tested," I whispered. "But why?" Shivers crawled up and down my spine. My stomach twisted tight. Why did she go along?

  The next few pages were smeared and illegible. We couldn’t read the text again until five pages later.

  "This young girl is not of this world, but insists she is. Able to do what others are incapable of, transcending human abilities, she is unlike any human being I have encountered. If I can somehow study not just her brain waves but also the electrical impulses that originate in her cortex, I should be able to discover the source of her power. If I can discover the source, I can control it."

  I sucked in my breath and covered my mouth. Control the source? What did that mean? And could it help me?

  "The girl insisted I continue with my studies, that her energy source must be studied for the benefit of someone she calls the Marked One, someone not yet born unto this world. With great reluctance, I obeyed."

  Farrell put the book down. He looked deep into my eyes. "Dominique, take a breath."

  I exhaled, not even realizing I had been holding breath. "Farrell," my voice cracked. "They’re talking about me."

  "I know." He squeezed my knee. "Can you continue?"

  Every ounce of fear in me magnified. I didn’t want to continued, but had to. "Yes."

  "The girl instructed me to conduct electricity into her by delivering a current through her temples. I complied. When the blast entered her, something remarkable and altogether terrible happened. A blast of pink-hued light emitted from her rigid body. The light gathered at her fingers that clutched a black cross that hung around her neck. I immediately ceased the current, but it was too late. She whispered to the crying boy at her side before handing him the cross. Then her body went limp."

  Tears filled my eyes. My hand went to the cross around my neck, the cross that Abigail had given Trent’s grandfather that had now been passed on to me—the Marked One. "Farrell," I whispered. "Huxley killed Abigail."

  If she had died holding this cross, then what did that mean for me?