The Lake House, Page 3

  “If goddamn ET shows up here tonight,” she warned, “I’m going to take away their cameras, and film them.”

  While we were waiting for various desserts to be served—gelato, sorbetto, chocolate zuccotto cake—Max took the floor. God, she was magnificent: looks, bearing, everything about her said “hero.” Follow me. I am the special one you’ve been waiting for.

  Imagine heightened mother-of-pearl and you would come pretty close to getting the color of her wings right. They had an iridescent sheen, flushed pink where the shafts emerged from her nearly translucent skin. They reminded me of the wings of ospreys or swans, but, of course, spanning ten feet, they were much larger. The wings grew from behind her shoulders, but Max’s arms seemed elegant and natural. Clearly, she represented the best of both species.

  “Unaccustomed to public speaking, as I am,” she said, and we all laughed. Actually, Max had been on just about every TV news and talk show over the past few months. And, of course, she was very good.

  “Win, lose, or draw,” she continued, “I just want Frannie and Kit to know how much we appreciate everything they’ve done for us, and I mean everything, from saving our pitiful butts to getting shot at, having Frannie’s wonderful house burned to the ground, and then coming here and offering to take all of us into their new home. My God, they’re even willing to take in Icarus!”

  “Sure, pick on the blind kid,” yelled Ic as he laughed loudly. He actually loved it that Max always took special care to include him.

  “Frannie said in court today that we belong together, that we should never be separated, and I swear, that’s the way it will be. It’s the right thing to do, the only thing. Anyone with even half a brain has to see that. So we may be in trouble,” she said, and winked, “because our fate is now in the hands of this country’s judicial system.”

  Then Max came around the table and gave Kit and me the biggest, warmest hug and kisses.

  “We love you both,” she said. “Mom and Dad.”

  10

  THAT NIGHT, Dr. Ethan Kane walked THROUGH THICK WOODS toward Frannie O’Neill’s cabin in Bear Bluff. He’d flown into Denver that morning and had actually watched part of the trial. Dr. Kane was extraordinarily interested in the bird children, especially Maximum, who not only represented a forward step in evolution but might also know things she shouldn’t.

  Amazingly to Dr. Kane, the vet left the door to her animal hospital unlocked. There was a note taped to it: handwritten instructions to someone named Jessie.

  Ethan Kane proceeded inside the small house, preferring to use a flashlight rather than turn on the lamp in the foyer.

  He found his way to a small office, then into some kind of operating suite, which seemed to double as a pharmacy.

  The animals at the clinic already knew he was there. Dogs, cats, and Lord knew what else began to bark, howl, hiss, and chirp. “Shut up, you imbeciles,” Kane said through gritted teeth. He hated pets and, even more, those who kept them. Did no one understand natural selection nowadays?

  He returned to the office and started a search for Dr. O’Neill’s notes on Max. They had to be somewhere in the files—and they were. He located two manila folders thick with scribbly handwriting. No computer nonsense for our Dr. O’Neill, no sirreee!

  Dr. Kane began to make mental notes from the examination findings. . . .

  Max is a human who had been “improved” by genetic engineering, Dr. O’Neill had written.

  Injected with avian DNA as an embryo . . .

  Examination specs:

  Massive chest, fully three times deeper than that of a human . . . needs the extra musculature to support her wings.

  Overlapping ribs and a protruding breastbone or “keel” that runs the length of her rib cage.

  No breasts or nipples . . . Max will not deliver live young.

  Exceptionally long tirades or windpipe . . . thirty inches . . . folded accordion-style . . . fills with air during long flights.

  Bones are hollow to keep her body light for flight.

  Then Dr. Kane heard a faint noise on the front porch. He too had exceptional hearing. Plus, he was paranoid.

  Now who? he wondered.

  “Frannie? . . . Are you in there, sweetie? . . . Fran? It’s Jessie . . . I thought you —”

  A very large woman was at the door that led into the office. Jessie from the note on the door. She must have weighed 250, and not even soaking wet.

  She saw him.

  “Hello, Jessie,” he said. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you that I’m rifling through Dr. O’Neill’s notes on Max. And that it’s vitally important for mankind. I’m sure you won’t tell.”

  Kane then pulled a handgun from his jacket pocket and shot the large woman twice. That was nothing. Not a problem. But getting rid of Jessie’s body, making it disappear, that took some real thought and effort.

  But in the end, Jessie disappeared as if she had never been.

  That was the genius of Dr. Ethan Kane.

  11

  THE CUSTODY HEARING began again at nine sharp the next morning. This was the big day, had to be. Catherine Fitzgibbons shot to her feet and called Oz’s mother to the stand first thing. I thought I knew why, and it troubled me. The story that Anthea Taranto would tell now was sad and affecting. It might even win the case for their side.

  Anthea was a pretty, graying woman of forty-nine. She wore a lavender silk skirt, white blouse, and a navy blue blazer. She was recently widowed, her husband, Mike, having died of cancer the previous year. Ozymandias was her only child, and her only living relative.

  Mrs. Taranto spoke haltingly, but she told her story with heart-wrenching simplicity and tact. She and Mike had tried for years to have children. They had gone to a well-known, highly regarded in vitro fertilization clinic in Boulder. There had been false starts, but finally Anthea Taranto had conceived.

  “I went in for a routine checkup at eight months,” she told the hushed room. “I remember how happy Mike and I were that day. Dr. Brownhill told us that it was all routine, then as he examined me, he became concerned. He told me that the fetus was in trouble and would have to be delivered right away. I had an emergency C-section on the spot. I was told that my baby had died. Can you imagine how I felt that day?”

  Mrs. Taranto touched her stomach unconsciously, and seemed to drift out of the courtroom and into her memory before she resumed her tragic story.

  “When I found out my son was alive, not dead, it changed everything for me. Oz is the most important person in my life. He is my reason for living. I would do anything for him. Just give me a chance, Oz. Please let me be your mother, my angel.”

  Then Anthea Taranto looked directly at Kit and me. She fired the next few breathtaking words at us.

  “It doesn’t matter that these children are different or that it is a challenge to parent them,” said Mrs. Taranto. “They are our children. No one should be allowed to take them from us again. Please don’t take my baby away again! I am Oz’s mother. That has to mean something, even in this brave new world we’re living in.”

  There was a long pause. All eyes were on Anthea. Finally Catherine Fitzgibbons said, “I have nothing else for Mrs. Taranto. Thank you so much.”

  “I have no questions, Your Honor,” said our attorney.

  In fact, Jeffrey had few questions for any of the biological parents who took the stand that morning. They were from different backgrounds, different socioeconomic groups, but all seemed like nice people. The issue was, could these seven people raise such special children, and also keep them safe?

  I honestly didn’t think so. Especially the safe part.

  Jeffrey gently suggested to Max’s father that he might be overly enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame. He got the Chens to admit that major advertisers were negotiating for Peter and Wendy to do product endorsements. He brought out that Oz had an agent in Hollywood. But even the lightest jabs made me squirm with embarrassment. Attacking the parents could only backfire. And
it just wasn’t fair.

  But one thing about the parents did bother me. It bothered me a lot. None of them said, “I want to do whatever is best for my child.” And none of them acknowledged the safety issue, either.

  The court recessed for lunch, which Kit and I both skipped. We went up on the roof and held hands and were unusually quiet for us. We also prayed for the kids, and for their parents. When the trial resumed, it was with a thunderbolt.

  Jeffrey Kussof stood and turned toward the children. “I call Max Marshall to the stand.”

  12

  WHEN MAX HEARD her name called, her heart started to pound at flight rate, close to 120 beats a minute.

  It was her turn on the spit. She’d seen what the lawyers could do to witnesses, and now she would be grilled. Almost every minute of her life had been classified as top-secret. And she had been warned very explicitly: You talk, you die.

  It was that simple, that crystal-clear.

  She was supposed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in this courtroom, right? But what if she did?

  It would make everything worse than any of them could imagine. And she knew the secrets had to remain that way. Max knew things that no little girl should be burdened with. She knew the secrets had to remain that way.

  You talk, you die.

  The courtroom had gotten very quiet, and Max realized that every single person was gawking at her. She was in the dreaded spotlight, and she hated being there. Her freak-meter was sounding loud and clear.

  “Max, go,” said her biological father, Art, who was a nice enough guy, though bossy sometimes. “Go on now. You can do this, honey.”

  “You’ll be fine,” said her mother, Terry. “Go ahead, Max. You’re safe here. Just tell the truth.”

  Yeah, right, Max couldn’t help thinking. Tell the truth, and die a horrible death.

  Such was her fear that when Max finally stood, she beat her wings and hovered a few inches off the ground.

  The crowd whispered, “Ohhhhhhhhhh.”

  Max grimaced and forced her wings to her side. Then she made herself walk the twenty-five feet or so to the witness stand. Just walk, Max. Be a normal twelve-year-old.

  She looked up and saw the two flags behind the bench: the Stars and Stripes and the Colorado state flag with its alternating blue and white stripes and the big red letter C with a yellow circle inside. Behind the judge was an inscription on the wall: IN GOD WE TRUST.

  What did that mean right now? Could she really trust in God? Had God made her—or was it man?

  A clerk offered Max the Bible, and she placed a hand on it and swore to tell the truth. Her body was still shaking a little. This was so bad, almost unbearable.

  You talk, you die. And so do the other five kids. And maybe Kit and Frannie, too.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Judge Dwyer as if he knew what she was thinking. “We’re all friends here.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” said Jeffrey Kussof. “Just tell your story, Max. We want to hear it. Everyone does.”

  Max nodded okay, though this wasn’t okay at all. She flipped her long blond hair back over her shoulders. She cleared her throat, then leaned in close to the microphone in front of her.

  Damn, she didn’t want to do this. What she wanted to do . . . was fly away.

  But instead, Max did the unspeakable.

  She spoke.

  13

  “I KNOW I’m just a young girl,” Max began in a whispery voice. “I don’t know a whole lot of things, because I haven’t seen too much yet. But let me tell you some things I do know. All of this is the truth, so help me. I was there, you weren’t.”

  Max could see Kit and Frannie watching her from their seats up front. Frannie winked at her, and she could almost hear her say, “Go, girl,” which Frannie said all the time. It was their mantra, one of the countless small, silly things that connected them, and always would.

  “People did obscene, really horrific things where we used to live—at the lab called the School,” Max finally said, her voice like aspen leaves quaking in the breeze. Just thinking about the School made her incredibly angry.

  “Little babies were put to sleep there, which means they were murdered. I saw it happen. I saw dead bodies of kids just like me. Look at me, please. Look at Matthew, Ic, Oz, Peter, and Wendy. Aren’t we cute? Well, we were treated like lab rats. Usually, a lot worse than rats. There are laws to protect lab rats.”

  Max twisted in her seat to Judge Dwyer. Maybe he could help her? She desperately wanted to fly out of there. Her wings rustled. It was the only sound that could be heard in the courtroom.

  “We were put up for sale. People still want to buy us! To experiment on us horribly! To see how we work!” Max said. “Visitors came to the School to check us out, to test us. We were just property to them. Their creations, right? We were going to be used in further experiments. That’s why my brother, Matthew, and I escaped. Then we were hunted. I was shot down out of the sky by the same people who said that they loved me. If Frannie and Kit hadn’t helped us, we’d all be dead now. I’m not exaggerating, am I, Frannie?”

  “No, you’re not, sweetie,” Frannie said from her seat. “You’re just telling the truth.”

  Matthew jumped up from his seat. He whooped, “We made it, though, Max. We escaped. The bad guys were burned to crispy critters! So don’t mess with us! Ever!”

  It took several minutes for the crowd to quiet after that. When it did, Max said, “Try to understand. We can’t have rules like other kids. We can’t be told what to eat for breakfast or how to say our prayers. We have to fly when we want to, especially at night. As you can see for yourselves, we’re not exactly like the rest of you.”

  The judge was listening to her. He was really listening, and he wasn’t threatening or scaring her in any way. Max took solace in that. For the first time, she allowed herself to hope that people could do the right thing. It was a long shot. But maybe it could happen?

  “We look like little kids,” Max continued. “But we’ve seen a lot of suffering and death.”

  Her throat caught then, and she had to stop. She willed herself not to cry, which was what she ached to do. “We really, really love Kit and Frannie. I know they aren’t our biological parents, but they are the best for us. We found that out when we all lived together at the Lake House. We lived there for a glorious four months. It was heaven. The Lake House is the only place where we’ve ever felt safe in our lives. The only place! We feel safe only when we’re all together as a family. We must be kept safe! Please believe me, it’s dangerous for us out in the world. It’s so dangerous. You can’t believe how dangerous. We have enemies out there! People want to use us, abuse us. Take us apart and put us back together again!”

  When she looked around, Max saw that little Peter and Wendy were shivering, holding on to each other. Kit and Frannie had tears in their eyes. So did a lot of the spectators seated around the courtroom. Even the Marshalls. For a moment anyway, they all believed her. They got it. Finally.

  Slowly, spontaneously, and one by one, the rows of spectators rose. They began to applaud Max. They called out her name, and then the names of the other kids.

  “Thank you, Max,” said Judge Dwyer as the courtroom quieted. “Thank you for telling the truth, painful as it is. You may step down.”

  Max got up and moved away from the witness chair. She had told a lot of the truth. But she hadn’t told it all. She hadn’t told why it was so dangerous for the six of them, and how she knew.

  The judge was speaking again.

  “The court is in recess. I want to see the parents, and Mr. Brennan and Dr. O’Neill and their attorney, and the children’s advocate, Mrs. Watson. In my chambers. Now.”

  14

  MAX’S MOTHER came rushing over to her. “Max, you must stay right here in the courtroom, okay? I mean it, young lady. It’s the safest place for you and the other kids. I do understand safety. Your father and i have to go in with the judge. I think he’s
made his decision.”

  Max felt a surge of resentment. She liked Terry Marshall well enough, but her biological mother didn’t understand a fricking, fracking thing about her or her safety or the other kids. The other parents were nervously trying to quiet their children, too. She could hear the twins screeching, “Leave us alone, please leave us alone. . . . Back off!”

  Max felt tension and fear mounting throughout her body, and her head was throbbing. You talk, you die. She had to get away from all this, at least for a couple of minutes. She had to get out of this claustrophobic room. All the noise, the rude and pushy people. And worst of all, the press. Tamping their sneaky IFB earpieces in place. Twisting their network-logo-flagged microphones. Never taking their nasty, beady eyes off her.

  She needed space.

  Even if it might be dangerous.

  As soon as the Marshalls disappeared into the judge’s chambers, Max practically flew through the open double doors and veered sharply into a double-width hallway.

  There was an elevator bank up ahead, shiny metal doors. Max looked back and saw Frannie and Kit holding back the crowd as best they could. She could hear Frannie say, “The kids just need to talk. They’ll be fine. They’re frightened and upset right now. Trust their instincts.” Then she heard the other kids coming, a rush of wings.

  “Wait, Max! Wait up for cripes’ sake,” yelled Oz. “Max, let’s stay together.”

  Max listened to the grinding sound of an elevator as it climbed to the sixth floor. The elevator arrived, and the kids piled in.

  Yes, trust our instincts.

  “It’s going up,” said Oz.

  “Excellent,” Max said. “I like up very, very much.”

  The six of them whooped! They all liked up.