Lucy faced the long, narrow gray hallway full of doors again, and started to walk quickly, trying not to make a noise. She had almost ninety feet to go before leaving the bedroom pavilion, and that was a lot.
What if Bernardo showed up at the end of the hallway? He would ask her what she was doing with that coat, and where she was going; and she would stutter so much she would sound like the misplaced lid of a boiling saucepan; it was even possible she would end up revealing her absurd plan.
And what would happen to her when they found out she’d taken Broga? Worse yet; what would happen if she got busted while fleeing? the Order wouldn’t be amused in the least. Without Broga, it would be impossible to finish the research, having to resort to cloned tissues that had not yet been tested, which would mean a delay in the project; and those people weren’t fond of delays, not to mention betrayals. Yes, it sounded horrible, but what she intended to do was treason; betrayal of the efforts of her companions and the years of dedication that her husband and she had invested.
And again, the terrible image of Brun with his skull split open and a trickle of blood trickling down his tender little face, the image that had burned into her like a snapshot as she performed the Major Surgery. No. Broga would not suffer the fate that his little brother had. She wouldn’t allow it.
If she was busted, the least they would do to her would be to take away her neurosurgeon license and put her behind bars.
Don’t kid yourself, she thought. The Binary Project is top secret; countless laws have been broken to keep it going. You know a lot about it; those people will be afraid you’ll open your mouth and expose them. They won’t wait for you to rot in a cell; they’ll put you on ice with a shot in the back of the head, and they’ll throw you in a ditch.
Her hair stood on end. If they found out: shot in the back of the head, and ditch.
She thought of Dr. Rosa Tyler, her only friend there. Rosa wasn’t the first one to ask for a transfer; however, Rosa didn’t handle the amount of classified information she did. Rosa could resign by signing a confidentiality agreement and adiós. Of course, those who quit the project knew the rules of the game and knew they would ruin their lives if they ever spoke. But this was different; this went far beyond a resignation.
Goodness! Her heart was throbbing so much her legs were shaking. She felt like she was walking on clouds, black clouds.
You may not be a mother, but at least act like one, she repeated and continued.
Luckily, despite her negative predictions, she reached the end of the corridor with no one opening a door, no one popping up.
She turned left—Bernardo’s office was to her right—and she kept going for several more feet. She held her breath until she finished crossing that stretch. Meanwhile, her mind pictured what she would do if she heard her husband’s hateful voice behind her, asking ‘Lucy, where are you going?’
She looked back several times over her shoulder. Bernardo’s office door was at the end of the hall, and it looked smaller with every step she took. It was ajar as she had left it, and the light was on, though she couldn’t tell if there was anyone inside.
Again, luck was on her side, and she heard nothing.
But when she turned into the corridor that would lead her to the nursery, she didn’t run into someone; she bumped into someone.
Lucy let out a squeal.
“Lucy, honey, where are you going in such a hurry?”
She looked up and found Rosa staring at her with wide eyes.
Her relief was astronomical. She hugged her friend and kissed her on the cheek. The gesture spoke for itself, a gesture that said: Thank you for being you; if it had been someone else… Afterward, she went down the corridor without saying a word.
“Lucy, where are you going?” Rose insisted, worried.
Please, Rosa, don’t ask me again, and don’t raise your voice. Please! I’d be busted! Lucy feared.
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“If I answer, you’ll stop me,” she whispered, though she was already too far away to be heard.
She took the corridor to the left, past the restrooms, stopping before the next turnoff. As she turned, she would make visual contact with the guards flanking the last door on the corridor, the nursery. Her heart pounded faster than before, and her entire body trembled as her voice would have trembled if she had spoken.
She left the coat with the blanket rolled on the floor. Even when the guards didn’t question her actions, if she was to take Broga, it would be better not to be seen with a change of clothes; it could arouse suspicion.
What a scatterbrain I am! I must have dropped them without noticing it. That’s what she would say if anyone saw the blankets on the floor.
She felt her ID in her pocket, wouldn’t need it for now; she would keep it for when those guarding the facility’s exit asked for it. She took a deep breath, cleared her mind, praying fear would not be so transparent in her face, and moved on.
This time, she didn’t hesitate to get into the nursery. The guards remained mute. She came in and closed the door behind her. Broga was still sitting on the floor with a red crayon in his hand, drawing some sort of swirl on a sheet of white paper.
THUMP, thump… THUMP, thump… Lucy’s heartbeat was so strong it hurt. She had trouble breathing. She was so nervous.
“Hello,” she said to the little one.
Broga looked up at her, just as calm as in their previous encounter, and his huge green eyes blinked rapidly. ‘You again!’ said that look. Then his little face showed a certain intrigue, and he looked again between her legs in search of that absent someone.
“Brun?” he asked.
“I’ve come for you, Broga,” she replied.
His eyes lit up. “We’re going to see my brother Brun?”
Lucy pursed her lips. She must lie.
“First, we’ll go somewhere, and then we’ll pick up Brun, okay?”
Broga nodded.
“You’ll come with me in silence, okay?” she said, and thank heaven she didn’t stutter. She extended her arm toward him, and with a gesture, asked him to take her hand.
THUMP, thump…
The child stood up with a new smile. He let go of the crayon, and by scrubbing his hands against his white pajama, he gave it some new red stains. How clean his clothes looked was the least of her worries. The good thing was the boy had his white rubber slippers on; there was no time to look for more clothes, and the kid shouldn’t walk barefoot considering the low temperatures outside.
Broga raised the sheet he was drawing on and gave it to her as a present. She took the drawing and smiled, even though the doodle of the red swirl gave her goosebumps; it looked like a puddle of blood. Was that a forecast of the next minutes?
THUMP, thump… THUMP, thump…
No nonsense right now. A doodle was a doodle; it meant nothing.
Lucy folded the paper and kept it in her light blue scrubs pocket, along with her ID. She showed Broga a smile that said, ‘See? I’ll treasure your work of art right here,’ and then she held his hand. A strange sensation of peace filled her as she came into contact with the child. Her heartbeat stopped being so violent.
I won’t let them do to you what I did to your brother. I promise you.
However, the feeling of comfort disappeared after taking the first step out of the nursery.
Don’t look at the soldiers. Don’t look at them, and they won’t look at you.
She walked down the corridor, taking Broga with her. She didn’t know if the men in uniform followed her with their gaze; she preferred to think that no, that they were still by the door, with their chins up and their legs straight, even though no one was occupying the nursery now. ‘I’m taking the kid to the laboratory. More tests,’ that’s what she had to say if anyone asked her. It was a logical lie.
But it was a lie. And she was bad at telling lies.
She veered into the corridor to the right.
No footsteps. The guards were not following her. She picked up her blanket and the coat and hurried forward. Her sandals scraped the floor and raised a horrible echo. Making noise while trying to go unnoticed was not beneficial to the cause, although at that moment, it was impossible to contain her urge. She felt invisible hands pushing her back, so hard they could have thrown her face down on the ground.
THUMP, thump… THUMP, thump…
She glanced at the child, and he glanced back at her. She faked a smile, but he didn’t. It was as if the little boy had realized that picking up his brother Brun wasn’t and had never been part of the plan.
Just keep quiet, please, she asked him with a thought.
She looked back. Nothing. She was in luck. She stopped at one of several intersections in the corridor, poked her face to make sure there was no one out there, and looked both ways as if she were about to cross a busy avenue. The rooms were closed. Surely everyone was asleep. The road was clear.
“Come on!” she whispered to the little one, and they got into the elevator.
The steel doors closed, and they got isolated from the outside world, confined to a metal cubicle, cold and gray. Lucy pressed the button with the letter G on it. Her car was in the garage. She begged no one would think of going there at that very moment. She glued her small eyes to the door; and as they descended, she put on her coat and wrapped the blue blanket around Broga, covering his head as well.
“Hold it tight. Like this,” she said and made a gesture by crossing her hands to teach him how to do it. After that, she felt the need to surround him with her arms to give him the sense of security she actually needed. Her hands trembled, and she stopped; she didn’t want the child to perceive her fear. Even the sound of her own fast-paced breathing disturbed her.
THUMP, thump… THUMP, thump…