It Lives Again Read online

  Jody’s mother had reached the couch. “Haven’t you done enough, Mr. Davis?” she asked.

  “Mother!” said Jody, surprised not only at her mother’s lack of manners but at her bluntness.

  “I’m sorry,” said her mother as she placed the tray on the coffee table. She turned to Frank. “You’ll excuse me if I speak frankly, Mr. Davis?”

  “Of course,” said Frank.

  “I can’t help but feel my daughter would have been far better off without your intrusion into this matter, Mr. Davis.”

  “Mother, please,” Jody said.

  “I’m sorry, darling, but look at you. You here, your husband off God knows where, a hunted fugitive, harboring . . .” She paused as she searched for a word. “. . . that thing!”

  “My baby, Mother, my baby,” Jody said.

  “Call it what you will,” she said, speaking as if Frank Davis were not even there, “I still maintain you would have been much better off if this man had never come near this house.”

  “I’m sorry you feel this way, Mrs. . . .” Frank suddenly realized he didn’t know her name.

  “Jenkins,” she said, “Mrs. Jenkins, and I’m not . . . I’m not sorry at all.”

  Standing by the door Mallory had heard most of this conversation. The police had now put just about everything back into place and he was ready to leave.

  “All right, that’s enough, let’s clear out.” He turned to Davis. “You still want that ride, Davis?”

  “Yes,” said Davis as he crossed the room, anything to get away from the mother.

  “Good-bye, Frank,” said Jody warmly from her couch, wanting to let him know how much she appreciated what he had done for her.

  “Good-bye,” said Frank. “I’ll call to see how you’re doing.”

  Mallory watched them, suspiciously, looking for any signal between them, but Frank turned and walked out the door.

  As he did, Mrs. Jenkins quickly crossed the living room to Mallory. “Good-bye, Mr. Mallory,” she said politely.

  “There’ll be a police officer stationed outside at all times,” he said, “to keep the newspaper and television people away.”

  “That’s very thoughtful, Mr. Mallory,” said Jody’s mother. “Thank you.”

  From the couch Jody craned her neck to peek out the floor-length front window of her living room. Parked along the curb were three police cars! Jody knew one thing for sure. She was little more than a prisoner in her own home.

  Outside, Mallory was getting into one of the police cars. Davis was already there, sitting in the back seat.

  Wordlessly Mallory signaled the policeman to start the car.

  “Where to?” the policeman asked.

  “The airport,” said Mallory, sitting back to enjoy the ride. He took out a pack of cigarettes, turned, and offered one to Davis.

  Davis accepted. “Thanks,” he said.

  “So,” said Mallory, “you’re going to Dallas.” He didn’t really believe Davis, sure this was some sort of subterfuge to conceal his real intention to get back to that thing, that monster.

  “Yes,” said Frank, holding on to the side of the car as the young policeman took the corner much too quickly. “I’m due in Dallas tonight. I’m giving a lecture on my unique experience in fatherhood.”

  “I see,” said Mallory, “I see. You’ve been doing a lot of that, haven’t you, Davis? You must be picking up a couple of bucks at it, huh?”

  “A man has to live, Mr. Mallory. You should know that,” said Davis, teasing his foe. “A man has to make a living in this day and age. Well, look at you, for instance, look at the important job you have, running all over the country. Look at you, for God’s sake!”

  In the Scott house, Mrs. Jenkins was back at her daughter’s side. “Now, I want you to take this and go to bed,” she said, standing over her, thrusting a pill and a cup of water into her daughter’s hand.

  “Please, Mom,” Jody protested.

  “Listen, now, I didn’t fly out here from Chicago on a moment’s notice to be ignored.”

  “Mom,” Jody pleased, “I appreciate your coming, I really do. But please leave me alone.”

  “Now,” said her mother, “it won’t do you any good to dwell on this. You mustn’t feel guilty.”

  “Mom—”

  “Now let me finish. None of this is your fault.”

  “Mom, believe me, I’m not feeling guilty.”

  “That’s fine, dear,” she said, leaning down, patting her daughter as one would a cocker spaniel. She sat on the coffee table, looking levelly at her daughter, preparing to say something.

  Jody returned her look. God, she thought, how old she looks. Is this me? Is this what twenty-five years does to you? Is this going to be me?

  “Jody,” her mother began, “we’ve always been honest with each other, so I might as well tell you what’s on my mind. You’ve only known Eugene a few years.”

  “Oh, Mother,” said Jody. She knew what was coming.

  “No, no,” said Mrs. Jenkins, “let me finish. We don’t know his family or where he comes from.”

  “Mother, please, don’t,” Jody said, trying again to stop her. But Mrs. Jenkins wouldn’t be stopped.

  “All I know,” she insisted, “is that there’s nothing wrong with anyone on our side of the family. It couldn’t be us. It has to be him, his side of the family.”

  “For God’s sake, Mother, it isn’t hereditary. It’s happening to others. You know it is. You’ve never liked Gene. Why are you trying to twist this around? Why are you trying to make me hate him?”

  “You wasted your talents on him. You could’ve been concertmaster if you’d stayed in Chicago. Your father and I did everything for you, the finest schools . . .”

  Jody tried to get up. She couldn’t stand it any more, but she was too weak. She fell back on the couch, sobbing.

  Her mother moved toward her, concerned. “Dear . . .”

  “Mother, there’s only one thing I want you to do, and that’s to help me get away from them,” Jody said very concisely, pointing out the window at the remaining police cars. “They’ll be watching me. And sooner or later Eugene is going to want me. Our baby will need me. They mustn’t be allowed to follow. Do you understand?”

  “You’re not talking rationally,” said her mother. “That’s not a baby, that’s a mon—”

  “Don’t say it, Mother, don’t say it. You’re going to help me, you hear?” said Jody, on the verge of tears again. “When the time comes you’re going to help me. You understand?”

  “Yes, dear,” cooed her mother, moving closer, patting her again like a pet dog. “All right, dear,” she said, “whatever you say,” agreeing with her because that was the easiest thing to do right now. “We’ll do whatever you say.”

  The blue van had worked its way past Hollywood, out into the valley, past Universal Studios, and onto the Ventura Freeway, heading west.

  “How much farther?” asked Eugene.

  “Almost there,” answered Dr. Forrest. “We get off at the next exit.”

  “Coldwater Canyon,” the sign read. Dr. Forrest moved over to the exit lane. Down a ramp and then left, the blue van moved quickly up a two-laned street, past a busy intersection or two, and then climbed onto a winding canyon road leading into the mountains.

  Then followed a succession of turns from one winding mountain road to another, until Eugene was not sure whether this was the way to the place they were going, or whether they were doubling back, making sure they weren’t being followed. Through it all, not a sound from the small passenger in the back.

  Finally they topped a knoll. The houses grew more sparse, petering out completely for the last mile or so until they reached their destination: a large, seemingly abandoned estate.

  “Here we are,” said Dr. Forrest. “We’ve leased it. It used to be a school for children of foreign diplomats. The privacy allows us to continue with our experiments.”

  “Does Frank Davis know about this place?” aske
d Eugene.

  “He found it for us,” answered Dr. Forrest. “It was one of his old clients when he first started in public relations.”

  “Isn’t that risky?” said Eugene. “I mean, they could trace it . . .”

  “This whole thing is risky, Mr. Scott. You should know that.” The doctor smiled.

  “Yes, I suppose I do,” Eugene said, listening again for any sound from the back of the vehicle.

  Dr. Forrest pulled the blue van to a stop right beside an electric speaker. Ahead, a massive wrought-iron gate barred entrance to the grounds. The doctor leaned out his window, pressing the button of the speaker.

  “Who is it?” a voice asked promptly.

  “It’s Dr. Forrest,” he answered. “Eugene Scott is with me . . . and the infant.”

  Instantly the gate, electronically operated, began to slide open. So seldom had it been used recently that branches, grown up in the interim, pawed at the gate, impeding its progress.

  After snapping off several branches, the gate finally opened far enough. The blue van made its way up the driveway and onto the grounds. Up the cracked concrete of the driveway, past a number of dead trees yawning at the late-afternoon sky, Eugene had his first look at the main house.

  It was a gigantic Spanish mansion, located on about a dozen acres. Surrounded by a high protective fence and hidden by enormous eucalyptus trees, it was completely secluded from view, completely isolated. The strange old building, constructed probably in the 1920s, had the look of never having been fully occupied. Ivy had grown across its red tile roof, obliterating for all intents and purposes many of the windows. The grounds, too, had not been cared for recently. The lawn was overgrown, and at the far end of the property the large swimming pool was filled with leaves from the many towering trees above it. The leaves just sat there like a covering over the water; the entire area looked more like a swamp than a swimming pool, not at all an inviting place to take a swim.

  Rounding the driveway, they passed swings, monkey bars, and a variety of athletic equipment that had not been used or cared for in years.

  “What a place!” exclaimed Eugene.

  “Yes,” agreed Dr. Forrest. “They had to close it after a child drowned in the pool. The lawsuits for negligence put them out of business. It’s been a white elephant for years now.”

  Ahead, Eugene saw a number of attendants awaiting the arrival of the blue van. A large wagonlike device, a piece of hospital equipment, had been wheeled out to accept the incubator.

  “You certainly don’t lack for help,” said Eugene, counting the number of white-coated medical personnel waiting to assist in the transfer of the incubator.

  Dr. Forrest smiled. “There are a lot of people, medically trained people,” he said, “especially in an area like Los Angeles. They spend all that time in school and end up emptying bed pans, feeding chocolate to old ladies. They’re around,” Dr. Forrest continued, “just looking for a challenging opportunity like this . . . something different.”

  “Well, it’s that all right,” said Eugene, feeling better now that they had reached the place and seen how organized, how well set up, they were.

  “What?” asked Dr. Forrest, breaking the van to a smooth halt.

  “Different,” said Eugene, smiling. “This case is certainly different.”

  “Oh, yes,” answered Dr. Forrest, returning his smile. “It certainly is.”

  They stopped in front of the house. The attendants, so well prepared, hurriedly unlocked the rear of the camper with their own key! Even though there was no movement from the infant, the attendants placed the incubator on the wagon with great care. Then, keeping it level, carried it up the steps and wheeled it smoothly inside the mansion.

  Dr. Forrest and Eugene followed them up the steps, Eugene marveling at the efficiency of it all. “Your people really seem prepared,” he said.

  “They’ve had some experience.”

  Eugene looked at Dr. Forrest as if anticipating that the doctor was about to tell him something he hadn’t expected.

  “I may as well explain it now, Mr. Scott,” said the doctor. “Your child is not alone here . . . there are others.”

  “Others,” Eugene repeated.

  “Yes,” said the doctor, “other babies like yours. One was brought from Atlanta, the other was delivered here twelve days ago. The mother didn’t survive . . .”

  Eugene, coming down from his feeling of elation of a few moments before, seemed suddenly weak. “Maybe it’s the trip, but I’m not feeling very well.”

  “Can I help you?” asked Dr. Forrest.

  “No, it’s all right . . .” he said, continuing up the steps. “I wish you had told us all this earlier.”

  “Do you, Mr. Scott?” asked Dr. Forrest. “Would it have made any difference?”

  Eugene thought a moment. “No,” he decided. “I suppose not.”

  They moved inside the main entry hall, where above them a giant chandelier hung down like a pendulum over their heads. From the wide Spanish staircase, circling around the entryway and forming a balcony over the main hall, bounded a tall, sorrowful-looking man with thick eyeglasses. He was Dr. Eric Perry.

  Without so much as an introduction, he blurted out to the newly, arrived father, “We’ve prepared a room for you in the west wing.” And then to Dr. Forrest he said excitedly, “You should see them!”

  “How are they?” Forrest smiled catching Dr. Perry’s excitement.

  “More alert each day, communicating! They’re very much aware of each other.”

  “Good,” said Dr. Forrest, “good!”

  “And they’ve been quite calm,” Dr. Perry continued. “I believe they trust me. My tests seem to indicate that they already possess the mental capacity of a human infant of at least eleven months!” he gushed.

  Dr. Forrest was interested but stopped Dr. Perry, or else they would have been standing out there in the lobby well into the night. “Excuse me, Doctor, but Mr. Scott really has to get something to eat. He hasn’t eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours. He really has to get some rest.”

  “Oh, of course, of course,” said Dr. Perry. “I understand completely.”

  “No,” said Eugene. “I’d like to see them.”

  “You’re sure?” questioned Dr. Forrest.

  “Yes,” said Eugene. “I’m not afraid to look any more.”

  “You’ll find they bear a striking resemblance to one another,” said Dr. Perry, very excited. He knew how much a cooperative parent could mean to this project. “As if they were all brothers and sisters.”

  “Is one of them female?” Eugene asked, surprised.

  “Exactly,” said Dr. Perry smiling, his eyes dancing under the thick lenses.

  Eugene and Dr. Forrest followed as Dr. Perry led them through myriad corridors stretching around the old Spanish mansion. Down through empty rooms and vacant halls they went, until they finally came to a metal staircase leading to the basement.

  “It’s my belief,” said Dr. Perry as their feet clanged on the steel steps, “based upon their present rate of growth, that in five or six years they may be capable of sexual activity. I pride myself in thinking that these two down here might be the very first to actually reproduce on this planet of ours.”

  “Where’s my child?” asked Eugene, vaguely impatient at these scientific projections. This was the first time he had used those words to describe the infant. The terminology was not lost on Dr. Forrest.

  “In one of the laboratories upstairs,” answered Dr. Perry, “undergoing tests. Eventually it’ll be moved down here. We find that being with the others calms them. We try to create an artificial environment for them while at the same time maximizing protective measures to assure that they won’t . . .” Perry hesitated “wander off.”

  At the bottom of the stairs was a massive steel door, recently installed, judging from the fresh cement around the edges, and built for just this purpose. Dr. Perry was about to place one of his numerous keys into the heavy brass
lock.

  “Dr. Perry was head of the Genetics Department of Loyola University before he joined us six months ago,” said Dr. Forrest.

  “Yes.” Dr. Perry smiled. “This was an opportunity that none of us ever dreamed could happen, a leap into the future, so to speak.”

  “And suppose you’re wrong? Suppose they can’t be trained or tamed?” asked Eugene, looking at the perplexed Dr. Perry. The key didn’t fit; he had the wrong key.

  “We’re not trying to make them pets,” replied Dr. Perry, squinting with his poor eyesight, fretfully searching for the right key.

  “We want them to achieve their maximum capability,” said Forrest, smiling a little at Dr. Perry’s obvious difficulty, “whatever that might be.”

  “I don’t know how to say what I mean, but . . .” struggled Eugene.

  “What you’re asking is,” said Dr. Perry, irritated, then exalted—he’d found the right key—“if they don’t prove compatible with the human race, what then? Do we destroy them?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s what I mean,” answered Eugene, not entirely sure.

  “We just don’t know yet, Mr. Scott. We have to take this one step at a time. As in many scientific studies, we just are not yet ready to think about further procedures,” said Dr. Forrest.

  The lock went “click.” The steel door eased open. Eugene Scott was led inside.

  The room. The lights were a strange amber color. Eugene had difficulty adjusting to it. There was a strange hissing of some artificial life-support system, constantly in operation, constantly pumping, almost like the thumping of a human heart. Adjusting to the light and moving deeper in the room, Eugene caught sight of the edges of the enclosures in which the creatures were kept. They were moving around in there, two of them, close to the restraining bars, as they tried to see who had come into their place. Who was this stranger who stood at the doorway, afraid to show himself fully?

  From Eugene’s angle, he was able to see little more than their outline; the body, small but impossibly muscular; not covered with hair, as one would expect, but smooth, like a human. And yet they walked on all fours, with a head far too large for their current-sized bodies.