Night's Favour (32 page)

Last time she’d had to wear a hazmat suit regularly, Elsie had been a junior member of an exploratory team.
 
They’d been researching a new virus.
 
She’d taken the clothing seriously.
 
Three men had died conducting that research, the seals of their suits not correctly fastened.
 
Elsie knew the benefits of a correctly fastened suit; she had taken meticulous care with her own suit before walking into the room.

Elsie didn’t need protecting.
 
Cancer wasn’t contagious.

It was — of course — so she didn’t infect the bed’s single occupant.
 
She wished she could wipe her eyes.
 
The suit air made her eyes tear up.
 
It made seeing a little more difficult.
 
She didn’t remember her last suit doing this, but she was younger then.
 
A younger body was more tolerant, more capable.
 
Still, that younger self wouldn’t have had the resources to try to achieve what she was working towards.
 
It must be possible.
 
It had to be possible.
 
She had invested so much.

So much was at stake.

She walked closer to the bed, careful to set her feet down gently.
 
A level A hazmat suit had steel toes, heavy cumbersome things not built for quiet places.
 
Then again, the sound of the respirator was audible outside the suit; she just wanted to keep avoid any sudden noises.
 
Unexpected noise could be startling, and — well.
 
At this late stage, everything was a risk.

A squeak sounded by her foot.
 
She’d stepped on a small toy, a stuffed animal of some kind.
 
It had a noisemaker inside it, the air causing the squeak.
 
It looked like a mouse, but picking it up with the hazmat suit on would be difficult.
 
The cylinder strapped to her back only gave her about a half hour in here, but it was heavy all the same.

The bed’s occupant stirred at the noise, a thin arm moving upwards in a waking stretch.
 
She didn’t appear to be startled, but she’d probably been aware of Elsie on some level already.
 
It was Elsie’s usual time to get here; she wasn’t unexpected.

“Hello, love.”
 
Elsie knew her voice would sound a little harsher, a little less familiar through the radio.
 
It couldn’t be helped.

“Mommy.”
 
The girl sat up carefully, toys tumbling aside as she moved.
 
Her skin had a sallow, waxy look to it.
 
She’d lost so much weight her eyes were sunken in her small face.
 
None of that seemed to dim her enthusiasm.
 
“You came!”

“Yes.”
 
A smile tugged Elsie’s mouth.
 
“I’ll always be here, Birkita.
 
Every day.”

The girl wrinkled her nose.
 
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Birkita?
 
It’s your name.”

“I want to be called something glamourous.
 
Like Bridgitte.
 
I was reading about her today.”

“Brigitte Bardot?”

“Yes.
 
Or Raquel.”

“Bridgitte sounds a little like Birkita.”

“It’s totally different!”
 
Birkita’s skinny arms thumped against the mattress.
 
“Sheesh.”

Elsie looked at her daughter for a few moments.
 
“It was what your father wanted to call you, you know.”

“Bridgitte?”

“No.
 
Birkita.”

“Oh.”
 
Birkita thought about that for a moment.
 
“What did you want to call me?”

Elsie walked the hazmat suit over to a chair by the bed.
 
The chair was large and sturdy; she’d needed something appropriate for her visits that wouldn’t break with the extra weight and still be comfortable.
 
She sat down.
 
“I wanted to call you Scarlett.
 
Red is my favourite colour.”

“I could handle Scarlett.”
 
Birkita searched amongst the toys on the bed, surfacing with a laptop.
 
“I’ll update my screen name.
 
My friends can call me Scarlett.
 
Why did Daddy want to name me Birkita?”

“Your father was Irish.”

“I know that.”

“I suppose it meant something to him.
 
We didn’t talk much about it.”
 
Elsie shifted in the chair.
 
She tried to avoid talking about Birkita’s father too much.
 
It could lead to questions, questions with uncomfortable answers.

“The Internet says it means, ‘Strong.’”
 
Birkita spun her laptop around to show Elsie.
 
“See?
 
I’m supposed to be strong.”

Elsie looked at the screen, then leaned back.
 
“You’ve been very strong, though.
 
Perhaps he was right.”

“Who?”

“Your father.”

Birkita looked at the laptop, then closed the lid.
 
“You don’t like talking about him, do you?”

“Who?”

“Daddy.”

Elsie pushed herself out of the chair, and walked to the window.
 
It was thick, strong glass, sealed to stop anything getting in or out.
 
The room was on bottled air, clean, safe.
 
Secure.
 
She looked at the woods outside the window.
 
Water was dripping down the leaves of the trees.
 
It seemed so peaceful here.

It should; it had cost enough.
 
It must be the best hospital you’ve ever built
, she’d told the architect.
 
It must not be like a hospital at all.

“Mommy?”
 
Birkita shifted in the bed.
 
“We don’t have to talk about him, if you don’t want.
 
I’d like to…
 
What happened at work today?”

Elsie smiled in spite of herself, still staring out the window.
 
“The usual, honey.”
 
She turned back around to face her daughter.
 
“We got a little closer today.”

“Closer?
 
What do you mean?”

“We’ve found a… man.
 
Who’s going to help us.”

“I thought you’d found one of those already.
 
The man who was travelling from overseas to see me.
 
Because I couldn’t go see him.”
 
Birkita gestured to the bed around her, the tiny prison of her life.
 
“I’d like to travel.
 
Someday.”

“You will.
 
I promise.”
 
Elsie walked back to the chair by the bed, settling herself in again.
 
“The man from overseas is still here.
 
We’ve just … lost him.”

“Lost him?”
 
Birkita giggled.
 
“He’s not a watch or a Barbie.
 
You can’t lose him.”

Elsie smiled.
 
“Perhaps.
 
Maybe he just wanted to lose himself.”

“I’d like to get lost.
 
Someday, like I said.
 
Be somewhere I don’t know, and get totally lost.
 
Like an explorer.
 
I watched
Tomb Raider
yesterday.”

“The movie?”

“With Angelina.
 
She’s got a nice name.”
 
Birkita pointed at the television.
 
“She punched a shark!
 
She’s terribly brave.”

“Not as brave as you.”

“Is the new man who’s going to help me…
 
Is he brave?”

“Why do you ask?
 
What an odd question.”

“I want to be brave and strong.
 
You said that the man from overseas was going to give me a piece of himself, and I thought that was brave.”
 
Birkita rubbed her arm above where the IV drip was.
 
“If he gave me his brave-ness, I would be braver.
 
I don’t feel very brave.
 
I’m scared.”

Elsie sat quietly for a little while, the hiss of the respirator going in and out, in and out.
 
“You’re the bravest person I know.”

“I’m not braver than anyone!”

“Yes.”

“Yes I’m brave?”

“That.
 
But yes.
 
I think the new man is brave.”
 
And foolish
, thought Elsie.
 
He resists, when it’s useless
.
 
“Bravery can also be a weakness, love.
 
It can make you think silly things.
 
It can make you stupid, even reckless.”

Birkita thought that one through.
 
“I still want to be brave.
 
Or at least, I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“Soon.
 
Soon, you won’t have to keep being brave.
 
The man will give you what you need, and you’ll be strong again.
 
Like your name.
 
Birkita.”

“I’d like that.
 
Can my friends visit me?”

“Oh honey.
 
We’ve talked about that.
 
It’s too —”

“It’s so lonely here!”

Elsie sighed.
 
“I know, baby.
 
It has to be that way.”

“Why?”
 
Birkita pushed the laptop further away, falling back into the pillows.
 
“I’m dead anyway.”

“Birkita!”
 
Elsie was on her feet before she knew it, the weight of the hazmat suit forgotten.
 
“You’re not going to die.
 
Why would you say that?”

“One of the nurses said it.
 
She thought I was asleep.
 
She said that it was sad, because I wasn’t going to see Christmas.
 
That means I’m going to die, doesn’t it?”

One of the nurses?
 
Elsie sat back down, carefully arranging herself inside the hazmat suit.
 
“Sometimes nurses can be wrong.”

“I’m going to die, and I’ll be dead and ugly.”

“Ugly?
 
What?”

Birkita pulled the bandana off her head.
 
“I don’t have any hair!
 
I’m ugly!
 
I want to be brave, and beautiful.
 
I want to travel.
 
I want to meet boys.”
 
She sniffed, then continued so quietly that Elsie almost couldn’t hear, “I don’t want to die.”

“Birkita.”
 
Elsie’s voice was sharp.
 
“You’re not going to die.
 
I’m fixing that.”

“You can’t fix death, Mom!”

“Yes.
 
Yes, I can.
 
It’s what we do at Biomne.
 
And we’ll do it with you.
 
At least, with the help of one of these men.”

“But how?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Like when you meet your best friend’s boyfriend?”

“More like science-complicated.”

“Because they have to give me something?”

“Yes.”
 
Elsie didn’t say anything else.

“Can you give me a hint?”

“Like a puzzle?”

“Like a puzzle.”

“Ok.
 
When I’m gone, you can use your computer to look this up.”

“Look what up?”

“‘Lysogenic cycle.’”
 
Elsie sighed.
 
“You should probably look up the lytic cycle too.”

“What are those?”

“Methods of viral reproduction.”

“Viral what?”

“Like I said, it’s science-complicated.”

“What’s it mean?”

“Well — ok.
 
Lysogenic replication is kind of like a secret agent.
 
A virus comes in, and — sort of like a secret agent — injects its DNA into the host’s cells.
 
Then, at some point — pop! — it uses it for its own ends.”

“A secret agent?”
 
Birkita’s look was doubtful.
 
“In bacteria?”

“Virus.
 
In this case, a virus.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Uh.
 
That’s complicated.
 
To us, viruses are — well, viruses are very useful.
 
For lots of medical applications.
 
We can engineer them to do all sorts of things.”

“Like fix my cancer?”

“Like fixing your cancer.”
 
Elsie thought for a moment.
 
“One of these men has a very rare virus.”

“You want to give me a virus?”

“Maybe.
 
What do you think about that?”

Birkita sat in silence for a moment.
 
“Will it make me sick?”

“It will make you better.
 
You won’t get sick ever again.”

“I don’t want to be sick anymore.”

Elsie nodded, the movement shrouded by the hazmat’s hood.
 
The respirator clicked in and out.
 
“I might be able to get you a friend.”

“Oh!
 
Which one?
 
Rachel?”

“Not Rachel.”
 
Elsie had no idea who Rachel was.
 
No doubt one of the vacuous girls on Birkita’s Skype contacts list.
 
“A new friend.”

Birkita felt about for her bandana.
 
“I don’t like meeting new people.
 
I don’t want people to meet me when I’m ugly.”