The Vines Shelley Nolden (best way to read books txt) 📖

Rollie sighed. “Ulrich gave Kristian his diaries, one for each year, beginning in 1926. Kristian studies them like they’re medical textbooks. He now has so many astounding theories, any one of which might work. I need him focused on this puzzle.”

“Surely Kristian read about his birth.”

“There’s no mention of it. Ulrich must have been afraid that Angela would find them. After he admitted what he’d done, their marriage was never the same. Even after she began dragging him to church. Whatever the reason, he gave up on that heinous master race delusion.”

“Thank God for her.” Cora tried to swallow a lump in her throat. “What if Kristian decides to resume the experiments that Ulrich detailed in those journals?”

Rollie raised his hand. “I won’t let him touch you.”

You won’t be around forever, she thought. “Why can’t you tell him I’m his mother? He would never harm me then.”

“Because”—he stepped into the corridor and flashed the beam in each direction—“I also don’t want him rethinking his relationship with Sylvia, whom he practically worships.” Rollie winced. “That was insensitive. I’m sorry. Anyway, for years, he’s heard Ulrich refer to you only as ‘the subject’ or ‘mutt.’ In those journals, it’s no better. Sylvia’s the most effective countervoice to that cold, clinical mentality.”

Her insides roiling, Cora simultaneously hated and felt overwhelmingly grateful to that woman.

Rollie consulted a watch, looped around his utility belt, and an eerie green glow reflected off his mask. “Did you know that breast milk contains antibodies? Certainly not,” he muttered. “It was only recently discovered.”

Breast milk? He wants to talk about breast milk? This day can’t get any worse, she decided. “You’d better go,” she said, edging toward the door frame so he couldn’t lock her in again. “Your ‘son’ is probably worried about you.”

Rollie waved his hand, still holding the flashlight. “My point is, Kristian may have your same immunities.”

She squinted to shield her eyes from the shifting beam. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s only a theory, but hear me out.”

Cora nodded for him to continue.

“The entire time Kristian was living on the island, he was nursing, and thus receiving your antibodies. Those antibodies must have been killing the microbes you were passing to him before they had a chance to take up residence. Back then, scientists hadn’t yet discovered the benefits of breast milk. So it never occurred to Ulrich to remove that variable when assessing Kristian’s immune system while he was still living here. Cora, Kristian’s physiology may work the same way as yours.”

A warmth spread across Cora’s chest. Maybe I can have my son back, she thought. “Why didn’t Ulrich test the theory after he learned about the milk antibodies?”

“Because Ulrich loves Kristian too much to risk losing him if our theory is wrong.”

“What about infecting Kristian with something benign, like the common cold, while he’s here?”

He shook his head. “That won’t give us the data we’d need. Only the strongest of pathogens have ever been able to coexist with your immune system.”

Desperately searching for an alternative, she squeezed her temples.

“I know this is hard to hear, since I’m sure you still love him, but you need to believe me when I say you don’t want him staying at Riverside with you.”

It wasn’t Rollie’s decision to make. Before she could tell him that, the sound of gas escaping the canister on his back filled the cell, followed by the reek of chloroform.

“I wish I didn’t have to do this again, but I can’t have you following me.”

Her entire body began to tingle, except her heart. That felt like lead.

March 2008

March 21

ot. Finn smelled it before his eyes had finished sorting the light from the dark. He squinted against the blinding white that had breached the dank room through its only window. Where the hell was he? A wintry draft passed across his bare chest, not nearly as cold as the metal beneath him. Cursing, he moved to rub the spot but was stopped by a pair of plastic ties, each encircling a wrist and a rusted metal bar. He jerked his legs; they were restrained at the ankles.

Ignoring a spasm, he twisted his neck to inspect his surroundings. The decaying walls and floor were free of the pipes and machinery that had characterized the physical plant—the last place he’d been before . . . that blow to the head.

He listened for noises that would cue him into his location. Through the paneless window came the sounds of lapping water and shrieking herons. The room smelled of mildew and death. He must still be on North Brother, he decided, in one of the buildings along the river’s edge. Likely the morgue.

Finn recalled the rusty examining table he’d seen during his spine-chilling walk to the roof and feared that he was strapped to it. He tried to thrash free, but the cords held, stinging his wrists and ankles. Tucking his chin despite the misery in his neck, he tried to inspect his body but couldn’t see beyond his chest.

Already, deadly microbes might be coursing through his bloodstream. Panic, along with acid, rose in his throat.

He raised his head to sniff for the lingering presence of insect repellent on his skin. The pungent odor confirmed he still had some protection, but it couldn’t be much.

The drone of a boat’s engine intensified, then waned. No one in a motorized watercraft would hear a scream through these walls.

Where is Cora? Gritting his teeth through a pulsating headache, he flashed back to her crying in the other room, then silence. And the rush of air from a metal pipe.

Had she done this to him? Undeniably she was capable. And sufficiently angry. Her weepy reaction to Sylvia’s message could have been a ploy. Or a trigger.

Frantically, Finn inspected the cord binding his right wrist. It looked like something used in a psychiatric hospital, which Kristian easily could have procured. His brother could have also returned here on the first