Things Not Seen

  “Are…are you serious?”

  This might be the first time I’ve ever heard real fear in Daddy’s voice. And right away I’m sorry I spoke so casually. And sarcastically.

  I nod. “It’s true. But I think it’s because of what happened to Bobby. In New York last week.”

  And then Bobby explains how he spotted a shadow man, how the man followed him, overheard him talking about his own invisibility experience, and then demanded information about how to get back to normal. And how the tone got ugly, which made Bobby get the police involved—which ended up with William following Bobby back to Chicago.

  I nod, leaning forward in the desk chair. “And I’ve talked with him, Daddy. He came up to me at the library this afternoon. He wanted me to tell Bobby that he’s being followed.”

  “So…they’re watching this house, right now? Of course they are—they’re tracking a security threat.” Daddy’s voice goes low and harsh. “Bobby, grab those other two cages and follow me to the kitchen. We don’t have much time. If they come in with a warrant, it’ll be bad.”

  I’m lost. “What? What are you doing, Daddy? The kitchen?”

  “I’ve got to put all the mice down the garbage disposal. Sorry, but there’s no other way.”

  I don’t like mice, visible or otherwise, but that image is too much. “You can’t! Really, Daddy, you can’t! Maybe…maybe we can just let them go or something—no, that wouldn’t be good. But to just kill them, Daddy? I’d rather we just called up the FBI, tell them everything. Everything.”

  “Alicia, the world is not ready for this. Even our own government is not ready for this. Because they’ll try to keep it a secret so they can have exclusive use of it.”

  I feel my eyebrows scrunch together. “But…like, that’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” he says, “but probably not. Secrets never stay that way. And advantages tend to get misused. I am one hundred percent American, but when something gives our side a tactical advantage, it’s always temporary, and it almost always ends up biting back. Hard. It’s the rule of unintended consequences. Look at nuclear weapons. They ended World War II, but think of the long-term costs. It is an ugly, treacherous world out there. And for this particularly dangerous technology, the defensive solution that Dr. Phillips and I are working on might not be perfect, but it’s the best antidote we can think of. Because we have to be ready to do something if the secret gets out. That’s very clear. And it’s urgent. And this secret is not getting loose today.”

  I hear Daddy open the door to the kitchen walkway. The mice start squeaking again as their cages bump around. And I feel like I’m signing off on a death sentence, like it’s my duty to fight for a stay of execution.

  “But Daddy, is it worth it? All the lying and the sneaking around? Because I’m not seeing it. And that’s probably just me. And maybe if you told me the whole idea, this solution you’re talking about—”

  “Alicia, it’s not complicated, we’re simply…”

  He stops. A deep breath, a long sigh.

  Then, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t tell you the details. Because I don’t know how this is going to play out, and if anyone questions you or Bobby about any of this, both of you have to be able to say ‘I don’t know’—without committing perjury. You have to trust me on this, okay?”

  It’s not okay. Nothing’s okay.

  But I nod at him anyway.

  He says, “Bobby, let’s go. And then I need to come back here and gather up some files.”

  And they leave. I hear the footsteps, hear the squeaks fade down the walkway. And before I can hear the distant hiss of water at the kitchen sink, hear the hum and clatter and gargling of the garbage disposal, I jump from Daddy’s desk chair and rush across the room, and I trip on the edge of the rug, almost fall. But I get to the door and I slam it shut. Because I can’t listen.

  I hear it in my imagination anyway. Which is probably worse.

  I feel my way back and slump into the chair. And I have my face in my hands, crying real tears. About dead mice.

  But it’s more than that.

  Because I feel the weight of all these interlocking secrets pressing down and down and down, crushing the breath out of me. And my secrets—all the things I need to say to Bobby? Also crushed. Slowly suffocating.

  And I feel like other things are dying—not just innocent little mice, other things, like dreams, hopes, love—life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Dying, one by one by one.

  And I feel like everything is…disposable. And a line of poetry jumps into my mind, with a mousy twist: This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, or a whimper, but a squeak.

  Excuse me, may I make an observation?

  Permission denied. Shut up and go away.

  I only want to say that I’m pretty sure this is not the end of the world.

  How would you know? Ever been around when the world ended?

  Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. And you were there too—remember?

  Listen, going blind was not the end of the world for me or for anyone else, not by a long shot.

  And that, Henny Penny, is exactly my point.

  Go away. Now. And don’t call me Henny Penny.

  I’m already gone. Henny…Penny.

  Okay. Point taken. The sky is not falling.

  And maybe this is not the absolute end of the world.

  But as bits of invisible mice go swirling down the drain of my kitchen sink, something is very wrong.

  And if we’re using Mother Goose metaphors now, then I think it’s fair to say that Humpty Dumpty has had a great fall. And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men need help putting things back together.

  And they have no idea where to begin.

  Which describes my situation perfectly.

  chapter 10

  in the air

  I’m still sitting at Daddy’s desk a few minutes later, and there are footsteps in the walkway, and the door of the study opens.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Bobby says. It’s a subdued voice.

  Then Gertie trots to my side, licks my hand once, and lies down by the chair.

  Bobby says, “She was scratching at the kitchen door, so I let her in. It’s getting dark already. Really cold out there.”

  I nod. “Thanks.” I’m quiet a second, and then I ask, “So, you’re okay? After helping my dad with that?”

  “It was pretty bad,” he says, “like, I almost threw up. But I’m okay. I think it was worse for your dad. He actually had names for a lot of the mice. I guess I never thought of a scientist getting attached to lab animals like that.”

  I nod and say, “I’m not surprised. My dad’s the kind of guy who needed a box of tissues when we watched Bambi together.”

  Bobby says, “But it had to be done, I think. Because he’s right about trying to control the information. Because that’s what we’re doing now.”

  He’s next to me now, and the desk creaks as he leans against it.

  “Information containment. Damage control,” he says. “It’s what I’ve been doing since that very first morning when I couldn’t see myself. And I am so sick of it.”

  It’s the tired-little-boy voice again, the one that makes me want to hug him and cradle him in my arms and run my hand through his hair and say, “It’s all right, it’s all right.” But I’m not sure he’d let me do that.

  I ask, “Did my dad say anything else about what they’ve been doing out here?”

  “A little,” Bobby says. “Because your dad wants us to understand that it’s a very big deal, how the two of them have been able to re-create the conditions that trigger the invisibility. Because to do that, they had to work out the science, the principles behind the phenomenon, the precise way that the solar rays interact with the electrical field.”

  As he talks, the pitch of Bobby’s voice rises. This science stuff really gets him going.

  “And get this—they’ve discovered that each time a body goes through a
cycle from visible to invisible and back, causing the next set of transformations takes less energy. So it’s like there’s a cumulative effect, like the cells are being trained. Some of those mice had been through the complete cycle five times.”

  I nod, pretending I’m more interested in the physics than I really am. And then I ask, “But what about that plan he mentioned, being ready in case the secret gets out—any more about that?”

  “Nope,” he says. “Nothing. Except that they’re not done with the work. Close, but not done. And now he’s focused on this immediate situation, and he’s really freaked out about the FBI, about maybe having the research stopped. Or stolen.”

  “And I totally get that,” I say.

  Bobby says, “Yeah, me too.” Then, after a moment, “How about you—are you okay? I can tell you’ve been crying.”

  He’s next to the desk chair now, and he puts a hand on my shoulder. Such a simple gesture, but it makes my eyes fill up again.

  Because I feel like we’re traveling through light-years of empty space, trying to get close to each other. And his journey might be just as long and dark as mine. But he’s taking risks, coming closer. Close enough to touch me.

  I brush my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m all right. Thanks.”

  And here we are, just the two of us, alone.

  And are we talking about us, about our lives, our futures? And how we feel about each other? No. We’re talking about dead mice and global meltdown.

  But feelings are in the air. They are. And that moment for ourselves, I’m still hoping we both want it. I’m still hoping it will come.

  He takes his hand off my shoulder and says, “Listen, there’s a lot going on around here, and I feel like I’m sort of in the way—along with the men William says are following me. So I’m going to drive back home now. I already told your dad. And if anyone wants to follow me, so what? I’m going to go home, and nuke some frozen lasagna, and then practice my trumpet for an hour or two, act like it’s an ordinary winter afternoon.”

  He starts to move away, but stops, turns toward me. I can feel it.

  He says, “And maybe when all this calms down, we can get together later tonight. Sound okay to you?”

  It doesn’t, because I really want him to stay. But I don’t want to be clingy, so I say, “Sure, that’s fine. And call me, like, if anything happens, okay?”

  “Right,” he says, “and you keep in touch too. Because I can be back over here in minutes…as long as I can get the station wagon started.”

  I get up, and Gertie comes to heel on my left side. I find her harness handle on Daddy’s desk, clip it in place. “I’ll walk out with you. I’ll have to close the garage door.”

  “Here,” and he takes my right hand and guides it to his left elbow.

  And even though I’ve got Gertie ready, I take his arm. “Thanks.”

  We don’t talk until we’re in the garage. Then I say, “So, be careful, all right?”

  He says, “You mean, like, be careful that I don’t burn my mouth with hot lasagna? Yeah, I’ll be super careful. ’Cause that could mess up my trumpet playing for a week.”

  We both laugh a little, and then we have a quick hug. Hardly a hug at all. But it’s something. And feelings are still in the air.

  I push the button and the garage door rises.

  His car door groans open, and he says, “See you later, okay?”

  “Not if I see you first.”

  And I see his smile as the heavy door slams shut.

  The engine starts, the car backs out, and he’s gone.

  chapter 11

  up to a point

  Gertie and I make our way back through Daddy’s office into the house. And as I cross the little landing toward the kitchen, I can still imagine I hear the garbage disposal running.

  But it’s not, and Gertie leads me up the four steps into the kitchen. Such a good dog. Girl’s best friend.

  I can hear Daddy on the phone in the family room. I go out the kitchen door, take a sharp left, and then it’s ten steps.

  As I’m coming into the room, Daddy’s finishing up. “…No, that’s all right. Can you leave a message for him, please?…Yes, tell him that Dr. Van Dorn called, and that our research has hit a snag…. No, snag—that’s s-n-a-g, snag…. Yes, that’s right…. Thank you. Good-bye.”

  He hangs up. “Just trying to get in touch with Dr. Phillips. The hotel clerk in Geneva thought I was saying that our research had hit a ‘snack.’”

  He chuckles, and I’m amazed he’s still got his sense of humor.

  I’m on the couch now, the faint smell of worn leather around me as I sink into the pillows, and ten feet in front of me I can hear the news. It’s CNN, the volume down low, a group of serious people talking about tensions in the Middle East. Daddy can’t be in the same room with a TV without lighting it up. And I don’t like that, because that always seems like something old people do. And I hate thinking that Daddy is going to get old.

  “So,” I say, pointing toward the TV, “are we on the news, anything about invisible people? Or mice?”

  “Not yet.” No smile in his voice.

  I shouldn’t have said that, and right away I say, “Sorry. That you and Bobby had to do that.”

  “Yes,” he says, “so am I. Brutal, but necessary. ‘I was just obeying orders’—isn’t that what people always say at moments like this?”

  “I really think you had to do it, Daddy. To keep the information secret.”

  He doesn’t respond, and he drops heavily onto the couch at my right. I hear the volume of the news go up a click or two. And I know what’s happening. Daddy’s dealing with a serious overload, and now he’s vegging out, eyes on the screen as there’s a bulletin about the closing numbers on the New York Stock Exchange.

  “So, what’s next?” I ask, because I want to keep him here, keep him engaged. And there’s so much more I want to know.

  I feel him shrug.

  And he says, “I don’t know. I guess we have to see what the FBI has to say. See if they’re really after our secrets.”

  “But really,” I say, “what can they do? It’s not like we’re criminals. We haven’t broken any laws, none of us has. It’s not illegal to make a discovery. Or to keep a secret. Companies do that all the time. And so do universities, inventors, lots of people. There’s nothing wrong with keeping something a secret.”

  Gertie stirs at my feet. She doesn’t like it when I get emotional.

  Daddy says, “You’re right about secrets, but only up to a point. When it comes to matters of national security, the government has incredibly broad powers. For example, companies can’t sell certain computers to certain countries, because they could be weaponized. It’s the same for anything to do with nuclear energy.”

  It’s almost like Daddy’s talking to himself, thinking it through.

  “Because laws about private property go right out the window when it comes to weapons. And the government would certainly view the ability to make a person invisible as a kind of weapon system. We’ve still got to keep this away from everybody, and especially the government. Because if the government moves in and declares that this is their secret, then there’s big trouble. This would be huge, a top-secret, eyes-only, national–security type technology.”

  Daddy leans forward on the couch, fully back in the here and now, reasoning this out for both of us.

  “Except the government would have a problem. Because there are at least six other people who know about it, outside people, civilians—us. So they’d have to keep watching all of us, right? Day and night. They’d have to. And when the information leaks out one day—and history proves that it will leak out, that there are these six people in Chicago who know how the whole invisibility process works—what then? Then there will be other people who will want to talk to us. They will want to make us talk to them. And then our government will have to figure out a way to keep us safe from all the others.”

  Daddy leans back heavil
y, as though the weight of it all is on his shoulders, then pushes out a long breath.

  “And it’ll never end, Alicia. It’ll never end.”

  There’s a noise from the front of the house, and Gertie tenses, scrambles to her feet—my own personal early-warning system, my secret weapon. I tense too, hold my breath.

  Then, from the front hallway, “Hi, I’m home.”

  It’s Mom.

  Daddy calls, “We’re in here, Julia.”

  Mom bustles in, kisses Daddy’s cheek, then drops onto the couch on my left, leans over, and kisses my cheek too. I feel the cold radiating off her coat.

  “You look nice today.” Then, without even half a beat, she says, “Could you switch over to channel two, Leo? They’ve got a satellite truck at Ellis and University, and I heard sirens a few minutes ago.”

  A woman’s voice comes from the TV. “…whether there have been any injuries. But we do know that the library has been completely evacuated. There are police with bomb-sniffing dogs, and you can see that they’ve already set up barricades on the streets around this part of the campus. Phil? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, Janet. Phil Granby here, and right behind me you can see the main entrance area of the library, and I’m speaking with Officer Susan Wozniak of the University of Chicago security force. Officer Wozniak, what can you tell us about the situation?”

  “At approximately three-fifteen this afternoon, the library received a phone call stating there was a bomb inside. Security officers began evacuating the building immediately, and also contacted the Chicago police. Now the police and the FBI are on the scene, and the building is being searched. There have been no injuries, and all students and staff have safely exited the building.”

  “Hey—Alicia…ease up.”

  And Daddy taps my hand. With good reason. I’ve got a killer grip on his forearm. Instinct. Tensed up by this news. Because the FBI isn’t looking for a bomb with those dogs. I don’t believe that for a second.