The Gryphon Project (23 page)

Phee placed her hands on the window and leaned closer. How could they stop now when they’d already gone so far? He looked perfect. She had to remind herself that sometimes Chrysalis only ever went this far, after third deaths, so that the body was
presentable for the funeral, so that family could say goodbye without having to behold their beloved’s mangled corpse. This wasn’t unusual. They might’ve planned on only going this far all along. It didn’t mean anything to them that he was so lifelike that Phee half expected him to help himself out of the capsule and come home with them, back to his life.

“He’s beautiful, Eva.” Oscar put his hands to the glass too, trying to get closer. “Our son.” He closed his eyes. Phee hoped he was cashing in every favour he could with his God, begging him to change Chrysalis’s decision. Begging him to give Gryph back to them.

It couldn’t end like this. Phee stared hard at her brother, his hair floating like a dark halo around his smooth forehead. She’d been in the same state, twice, and she was fine now. So he would be too. She had to believe, because if she thought for one moment that this was truly the end of her brother, she would lose it. And for her mother’s sake, for Fawn’s and Oscar’s too, someone had to hold on to what little hope was left. Someone had to have faith, other than Oscar and his acceptance of what he could rationalize as God’s will.

“The lawyers will figure something out.” Phee turned away at last and sat beside Eva. “This isn’t the end, so you don’t have to say goodbye, Mom. This is not goodbye.”

Oscar winced at her optimism. Him, of all people! “Phee, perhaps this is a goodbye. We can’t be sure. Not at this point.”

“It’s not, Dad. I know it.”

Oscar turned back to the window. “I pray that you’re right.”

Eva squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Go get your auntie Trish and uncle Liam.”

Phee left the viewing room, her knees shaking, her head spinning. She told her aunt and uncle that they could go see Gryph now, and then she took a seat near the twins as they played on, cheerfully oblivious. Fawn climbed onto her lap with her bunny and took Phee’s cheeks in her cool, small hands.

“Did you tell him that he has to come back because we were in
the middle of a game of snakes and ladders? Did you tell him I kept the board just like it was and everything?”

Fawn had asked her to do this before Phee had left the room with her parents. Now Fawn looked up at Phee with such trust and faith that Phee couldn’t bear to tell her that she’d forgotten. It had been so unsettling, seeing Gryph like that, that it hadn’t occurred to her to indulge Fawn’s simple request.

But she nodded anyway. “I did.”

“What’d he say?”

“Fawn, he can’t talk right now.”

“Oh.”

“And he can’t walk and he can’t think and he can’t come home yet. It’s like he’s sleeping.”

“Stasis.” Fawn tried on the word Oscar had explained to her earlier.

“That’s right. Stasis.”

In his seat across from her, her grandfather was tugging off his shoes and socks. Fawn pointed, grinning. “Look at Granddad.”

Phee shared a wink with her little sister before calling across the room. “What’re you doing, Granddad?”

“I’m going to the beach.” He balled up socks and stuffed them in his pocket. “ To feel the sand between my toes.”

“True, Granddad.” Phee slid Fawn off her lap and crouched at her grandfather’s feet. “But we’re not going until after dinner.” Another white lie slid easily off her tongue as she found his socks in his pocket and fitted them back onto his callused, hairy feet. “Right now, we have to wait.”

“For Gryphon.” Her grandfather nodded sombrely. “We must wait for your brother or he will be fit to be tied.”

“Right, Granddad.” The tears that Phee had been diligently holding at bay rushed forward, soaking her cheeks in seconds. “That’s right.”

The team of lawyers assured Phee’s parents that it wasn’t over yet. When they emerged from their meeting with Hueson, they were subdued but hopeful, or at least that’s what the lawyers told Oscar and Eva. They’d managed to get an agreement in writing, stipulating that Chrysalis would not to do anything to Gryph while he was in stasis that might harm any future recon. So he was, and would be for who knew how long, quite literally in an indefinite state of suspended animation. Part of Phee wished she hadn’t seen him like that, but mostly she was glad for it, preferring his renewed skin and rebuilt bones to the images of him broken and bleeding on the tracks.

The family took two Chrysalis shuttles home, the first one filled with Oscar, Eva, and Fawn, Eva’s mother and sister, and Phoenix. Her uncle Liam accompanied the rowdier group that included the twins and her grandfather, who’d put his shoes and socks back on, but rolled up his pants, still sure he was going to the beach. At first, Fawn had wanted to go with her cousins, perhaps lured by their rosy-cheeked cluelessness, but just before the doors closed, she’d changed her mind, yelping for her mother to wait for her and Bunny.

She sat on Eva’s lap and cuddled her stuffed rabbit as if she wasn’t much older than the twins, and Phoenix envied her that. She felt she had to be strong. Not for herself—she’d hole up in her room and weep for weeks if she thought she could—but for her parents. Eva tried to be the strong one, but she was as much a victim of her grief as Oscar was, who at least readily admitted it and prayed for the heavenly fortitude to carry on. Eva’s weakness was chilled with a rage only a mother could experience, having her child denied life. Oscar, on the other hand, had a quiet grace to his sadness.

And Phee? What did she think? She stared out the window as the tidy buildings and manicured lawns passed below in a blur. She didn’t know. She didn’t know what she thought. Only that nothing felt right. Everything felt amiss, as if the world had made a wrong turn and now couldn’t find its way home.

The shuttle sped toward the Shores with a low hum that drowned out the quiet, sad murmurings of her family. She wished they could keep going until they came full circle around and arrived at Chrysalis again to collect Gryph, fully and impeccably reconned. She wished she’d been with the boys that fateful day so that she’d seen what the boys had seen. And so that she’d know why they weren’t talking.

Under her fear and sadness burned a blaze of determination. They had three days until the appeal would be ruled on. Phee wouldn’t spend one waking moment of that wallowing in hopelessness. She would find out the truth. With Saul gone, Tariq was the key. Neko was just a little kid. And Huy, too devastated about Gryph’s death to string a solid sentence together, was of no use to her right now. Maybe when—or if—he ever calmed down.

She shut her eyes and imagined telling Tariq what had happened at Chrysalis that day, how close her family was to losing Gryph forever. She would describe the way he looked, strung like a thread between life and death. Tariq had to understand. He’d have to tell her what he knew, the secrets he kept.

UNCLE LIAM
took the twins and his father-in-law across the green to Phoenix’s grandparents’ house so that the others could have a quiet supper. Hardly anyone touched the food, each of them picking disheartenedly at the platter of sandwiches that a neighbour had brought over for them. Oscar poured everyone except Fawn a glass of wine, and for once Fawn didn’t protest at being left out. Phoenix sipped hers, the fruity heft of the alcohol rushing to her head. Eva and Trish spoke softly to each other, going over the events of the day, trying to make a plan. Phoenix reached for the carafe and refilled her glass as she strained to listen. No one noticed. She could hear only bits, but it sounded as though her auntie Trish wanted to have a backup strategy if Chrysalis ruled not to recon Gryph. And it sounded as though she didn’t trust the lawyers. Right now, Phoenix could not bear the thought that they might fail.

“Excuse me, please?” She set her empty wineglass down and pushed herself away from the table. Oscar looked up, eyes filled with worry.

“You’ve hardly eaten, honey.”

“None of us have.” Phoenix shrugged. “I’m just not hungry. May I be excused?”

“Of course.” Her dad put a hand on Fawn, seated beside him, a plate of cheese and pickles untouched in front of her, a carefully stacked pillar of crackers on her napkin. Fawn glanced up.

“Can I come with you?”

She meant right now, of course. But for a second, Phoenix wondered how her little sister knew she was going to go out later, to meet Tariq and Huy and Neko, the three guys left.

“Sure, brat.” She offered Fawn a hand and she eagerly took it, after tucking the crackers in her pockets. The sisters climbed the stairs in silence, and once at the top Phoenix went to drop Fawn’s hand, but Fawn held tight, tugging her into her room with her.

For a little kid, Fawn kept her room in surprisingly good order, especially when she was stressed. The bed was made as neatly as if
their grandmother had done it, and the floor was bare, every toy in its spot, all her stuffed animals lined up along the end of her bed, facing the door.

“They’re waiting for Gryph to come home,” Fawn explained as she handed out the crackers among them, one each. Phoenix didn’t have the heart to lecture her about crumbs in her bed. “He said he’d read a story to them.”

Phoenix’s throat swelled, catching her words. “How about I read it to them?”

“No,” Fawn replied. “I don’t think so.”

Phoenix’s eyes welled. “Just until he comes back?”

“Well …” Fawn dropped Phoenix’s hand and clasped her own together, thinking hard. “I guess maybe just one.”

“Okay, then. You pick.”

“The stuffies pick,” Fawn said matter-of-factly. She surveyed her troop of plush teddies and sad-eyed dogs, spending a little more time in front of her cherished stuffed rabbit. Then she went to her bookshelf, searching.

Even before Fawn had pulled it down, Phoenix knew which one it would be.
The Velveteen Rabbit
. Phee’s heart did a flip in her chest.

“How about a different one?” She didn’t know if she could bear the story of the toy rabbit being brought to life. Before, it had always resonated with her because of her own two deaths and subsequent recons. But now the story held so much more weight, what with Gryphon being in stasis at Chrysalis.

“This is the one Bunny picked.” Fawn held out the book, the cover worn, the corners of the pages softened with age. Inside the front cover, Fawn had written her name under their grandmother’s and Eva’s and Phoenix’s. Phoenix didn’t remember writing her name there because she’d done so only a couple of weeks before she’d died the second time. Gryph had never written his name in it. He’d preferred stories about ogres and knights and sports adventures. He had never liked
The Velveteen Rabbit
. As Phee turned the
pages to the first illustration, she wondered if he would appreciate the story as much as she did, when he came home.
If
, she reminded herself. If he came home.

Without being asked, Fawn changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed, although it was still light out and not even eight o’clock. She gathered Bunny in her arms and waited for Phoenix to start reading. With a steadying breath, Phoenix started the story. When she got to the part where Horse tells Rabbit about being made real, Phoenix had to pause to will back the tears that threatened once again.

“Keep going,” Fawn said as she stifled a yawn.

“‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.

“‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’” Phoenix sighed. Chrysalis claimed it didn’t hurt, being reconned. But it had to, didn’t it? Despite their intravenous drips and sedation? As your bones knitted together? As your new skin stretched over muscles and tendons? So accelerated? Did Gryph feel anything right now? Had she? The two times she’d been where he was now?

“Read.” Fawn’s eyes were closed now.

“‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’

“‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become.’

“I can’t—” Phoenix’s voice was thick. “I just can’t read this one tonight, Fawny.”

But Fawn was now, thankfully, asleep. Phoenix closed the book and set it gently on the bedside table, and then she just sat there on the edge of her little sister’s bed as the dusk grew, and slowly the tiny pinhole lights set into Fawn’s ceiling reacted to the dark and brightened into constellations. Exhausted, Phoenix stretched out beside Fawn, who breathed heavily with deep sleep. But Phoenix couldn’t sleep. Instead, she lay staring at the starlit ceiling, waiting for the household to creak into slumber. The sound of her aunt and
grandma leaving, old Riley being let out for one last pee, then Eva and Oscar climbing up the stairs to bed.

Phoenix feigned sleep when she heard her parents’ footsteps near. Oscar and Eva stood together in the doorway, watching their daughters sleep, before shuffling down the hall to their own room. When she heard their door shut, Phoenix crept out of Fawn’s room and sat on the top stair until her parents were in bed and the lights turned out. Then she made her way down the stairs, avoiding the same creaks that Gryph had mastered on his many illicit midnight field trips. She collected a jacket and her backpack and let herself out the back door so stealthily that not even Riley stirred in his bed just steps away.

PHOENIX RAPPED
on the little window on Willis’s hut by the gate. He’d fallen asleep sitting up and came to with a guilty start. He didn’t ask why she wanted to be let out, and she was thankful for it. He just buzzed her through, as he probably had done the same for Gryphon many a time.

“Hang on just a minute there, kiddo,” he said when she was on the other side. He passed her a slip of paper with a phone number. “That’s mine. You call me if you get in trouble.”

“Thanks, Willis.” She tucked the number into her pocket, doubtful he’d be of help where she was going.

As if reading her mind, he nodded sagely and said, “I know people.”

“Okay.” She thanked him again and headed off toward the nearest train station outside the Shores, which was a good half-hour walk. She couldn’t take the train right out of the Shores, because the station had constant surveillance. She’d never walked this way alone after dark, and she was dismayed to discover that she was frightened of the eerie night silence and the fact that she was the only person— not that she’d necessarily want to meet anyone out here.