9

AIDA

"What exactly is this supposed to tell you? You're just going to dehydrate him and possibly give him a heat stroke!"

My voice cracks, and my hands shake as Umansky looks placidly back at me.

It took me forever to find him.

Even after peeking into some of the other labs on my way in earlier, I was shocked to see that the building is pretty massive, with several restricted areas that rejected my keycard.

It wasn't until I'd nearly given up and headed back to my lab, concerned that Byron may have succumbed to the heat, that Umansky had found me, his expression unreadable.

It has remained like that the entire time I've been arguing with him to stop whatever he's doing to Byron.

"Doctor, you were hired to complete a specific part of this study, but you are by no means the only scientist working on this test subject. Please focus on your area of expertise. We know what we're doing."

I clench my teeth to remain calm. Perhaps reason will work—bees with honey and all that. "Again, he's not a test subject. He's a human being."

Umansky's mouth quirks when I say this just before his nose curls like he smells shit. "He's an animal. It's not your job to get involved with him. You aren't, are you? Getting involved? Security has had difficulty picking up some of the audio in the room. It seems you speak very low at times."

My heart stops, the implication of his words drawing me up short. He must know, but I'm not backing down even if he does.

"It's part of my job to get involved, Dr. Umansky. That happens when you're working on a cause you care about. Isn't that why you hired me, to help change the world by eradicating this horrible disease? Furthermore, I didn't realize I was performing for your surveillance." I narrow my gaze and wait, expecting him to start spouting bullshit.

As expected, he smiles. It's friendly, transforming his previously dismissive expression into open cordiality.

"You're a good scientist, Aida. And I know how hard it is to distance ourselves from our—work. But as you've noted, the sooner we can get your work done, the closer we can get to saving lives. And the sooner you can move on to bigger and better things. You know, like you were before."

He gives my shoulder an awkward pat, his hand settling over my lab coat a little heavier than I expect, causing it to collapse under the weight. With another lift of his lips, he moves around me and starts to walk away.

I watch him leave with the same narrowed gaze. He snaps his fingers, spinning around.

"I forgot to mention that there have been some electrical malfunctions in your lab area. That must be why the audio is faulty. For safety, we're going to move the subject to another part of the facility. It's not as high-tech, but there will be guards available at all times to protect you. Maxim will show you the way tomorrow."

I don't respond, and apparently, he doesn't care as he turns the corner and leaves.

In the two months since Umansky contacted me about this job, he has never once called me by my name. He calls me ‘doctor' and only begrudgingly.

This Umansky, who smiles and has us on a first-name basis, makes my insides revolt. I let the feeling take root for another moment before I remember why I sought him out in the first place.

Spinning on my heel, I rush back toward my lab, images of Byron passed out in his observation room filling my mind, only to nearly topple over my daughter, who comes around the corner in a flurry of bouncy twists and squeaking Converse.

"Woah, Zo. What are you doing? Why did you leave the rec room?"

Her eyes are wide with panic, and when she grips my arms imploringly, the worry I had for Byron shifts over to her.

"What is it? What happened?"

Maxim's sinister face blooms in my mind only to merge with the evil visage of my ex-husband.

"No, mom. It's not me. I was in your lab, and the—"

"You were in my lab? Zora, I told you to stay in the rec room. You can't just go in there. It's dangerous."

Repeating Umansky's words feels like a betrayal. At any point during our time together this morning, Byron could have hurt me, but he didn't, and not once did I think he would. If anything, rushing back here to be closer to him, even risking bringing my daughter, was because he makes me feel safe, even behind reinforced glass.

But still…

"You shouldn't have gone in there. How did you get in there, anyway?" The moment I say it, I realize that I was in such a rush to find Umansky that I probably didn't secure it properly when I left.

"Mom, he collapsed. I think he's sick or something."

Just like that, the fear returns, and I grab her hand and drag her back down the corridor, reaching the lab as Maxim exits with a satisfied smirk. He's talking to another guard and doesn't see our approach.

"We got that son of bitch. When it's all done, I'm gonna have them put me in a cage with him so I can put him down like the dog he is."

"Is Byron okay?" I intercept Maxim, and he stops, his gaze flickering down to Zora and back to me.

"He's perfect, for once. Finally showing his worth. We're moving him to another lab, Dad—I mean, Dr. Umansky told you?"

I nod, looking past him to peek inside the room. It's empty. "You've already taken him? My daughter said he passed out. I might need to check him."

"We have someone to do that already. You can go for the day."

I snort. Like I'm going to trust him.

"I have some things to finish up here, if you don't mind." I move to step around him, and he blocks me with his arm.

"Actually, I do. We need to get this all moved, so we're dismantling everything, but it will be ready for you tomorrow." He glances down at Zora again, who instinctively shelters behind me. "See you later, kid."

As I said, Zora has always been able to tell when someone isn't right. I should have paid attention to this before, but I didn't.

I learn from my mistakes.

"Don't talk to her." I shift so that I'm blocking her from his view completely, and his usual snarl curls his lip.

"You don't run shit here."

I cross my arms, mostly so he doesn't see that I'm shaking but also so that I don't slap him like I've been aching to do since I first saw his smug, sadistic face. "I don't run shit here, but this is my child, and the last I checked, you weren't her daddy. Do. Not. Talk. To. Her."

He glares me down for a long time, but I hold my ground. Finally, his head tilts, the tinny sound of a voice coming from his earpiece. He steps back.

"We have work to do. Some tests to run." His smirk says the jokes on me, and I rush to follow him as he starts down the hall.

"What tests?"

"Bye, Doctor ." He snorts like I don't have a medical degree and a PhD in biochemistry with advanced study in endocrinology. I'm left standing with Zora, wondering what's happening with Byron.

I have to trust that he's at least safe—and alive. I hope.

If there's one thing I know, he's valuable to them. They might treat him like crap, but they aren't going to compromise him before they get what they need.

It's also clear that my hormone synthesis is essential to their success, which means I have power.

Though, from Maxim's comment, they may be closer to success than I know. I don't have the complete picture, and it's killing me.

"Can we go home?"

Zora's looking nervously up the hall where Maxim disappeared, her hands gripping the back of my shirt so tight it's yanking the fabric against my windpipe.

I savor the moment of restricted airflow as I'm overcome with the confirmation that no matter how she tries to hide it, Zora still sees me as someone who can protect her.

Everything in me wants to check on Byron, to see that he's okay, but I force myself to take Zo's hand and pull her toward the exit. "Let's go."

***

"That was a little scary. I'm sorry." I keep my eyes ahead, winding through the tree-lined roads that lead back into the city.

Over the long drive, the difference in scenery is stark. It quickly changes from busy city streets to mountainous forest terrain that hides the location where Umansky conducts his top-secret cancer research.

I shake my head as I take a steep turn, slowing down at the deer crossing sign as always.

Cancer research.

It was fascinating when Umansky told me what he was doing at my hiring. He was looking at the effects of a unique hormone on cancer cells, a hormone that only Byron can produce.

Byron—

I called him Byron when I spoke to Maxim, and he didn't correct me. This is supposedly a subject so rare they're willing to risk his life for this scientific breakthrough, and they don't even know his name.

I'm torn between believing that they're just that entitled that it wouldn't matter what I called him and the more likely reality that this whole backstory they've presented is bullshit.

There's something dangerous going on. I know the warning signs better than anyone now, but I'm also invested in a way that doesn't make it easy to walk away.

I've slept with Byron.

No, I didn't sleep with him. I fucked him on a desk in my lab.

The way we came together was something so primal and pure, so instinctual, that at the moment, I couldn't have stopped myself if I tried.

"Yeah, well, you and scary situations. What's new?"

The snark in Zora's tone pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn to look at her for the second time today, shocked for the second time that she has so much venom directed toward me.

My first impulse is to lash out, literally and figuratively, but that's never been the dynamic between us. She's going to get enough shit as an intelligent young Black girl as it is, and my daughter, through no fault of her own, has had more than enough shit in the last year.

This time, I give her her venom. I let her have her harsh words.

As we get closer to the city, she perks up in her seat as we cruise up on a popular fast food place with some decent vegan options.

"Oh, can we get that for dinner?"

I cut my eyes at her, snort, and keep on driving. "Absolutely not."

***

"Homework."

Zora sulks past me, lobbing her backpack toward the couch. "I had to get dragged out of school because some psycho called in a threat to murder me, remember? I missed the homework part."

"Good thing I just got an email from the principal saying they've emailed it to you. So do your homework, and cut the attitude. I know you hate me. I know I ruined your life. I know. I know. I know. And I'm just as sorry now as I was a year ago and every day since then, but you don't get to talk to me any kind of way, so cut it out."

She starts to suck her teeth but stops mid-way, doubling back to get her bag before stomping up the stairs.

I roll my eyes at her dramatics, go to the kitchen, and pull salad kits and pre-cooked chicken strips from the fridge.

This is usually my post-workout meal on the weekends, but it also makes a good dinner on days when I can't be bothered.

Knowing Zora's going to have something to say about the meat, I grab some plant-based "chkn" from the freezer, too.

It takes no time to make the salads, and I don't even bother asking Zo to come down to eat with me. Instead, I bring her dinner to her bedroom, where she's stretched across her bed, doing math and listening to her headphones.

She doesn't look up when I put the bowl down. I sigh and leave, not in the mood to address her stank-ass attitude again.

Once I have my food, I go to my home office and finger-scan into my laptop.

The first thing I do is put in a Google search for Genesis Labs as I shovel a big forkful of Caesar-coated lettuce into my mouth.

I did this when I got hired, even though I didn't need to. Everyone in the science community knows Genesis, and getting hired by them is like a one-in-a-million opportunity. They don't bring people on often, and when they do, those scientists tend to get siloed into whatever work they're doing for the company. They're known for their scientific breakthroughs and their secrecy.

As expected, when I check again, the usual information about their innovative and ground-breaking research comes up. I scroll through countless articles and media mentions, research publications, and high-level overviews of current work, but I find nothing about the project I'm working on.

Going back to the search engine, I type in Umansky's full name, hoping for some dirt, and, again, I'm surprised when only a meager profile from an Ivy League school comes up indicating he graduated in the late-seventies. There are no publication credits, no appointment profiles, nothing.

That's odd.

I type in my name, just to be sure it isn't my search engine and a plethora of information comes up. Most of the recent stuff makes me click the tab away before I can focus too hard, but it lets me know that if there were something to be seen of Umansky, it would be there.

I hoped to find some old lawsuits or something that might help back claims of ethical misconduct.

I momentarily sit with my fingers hovering over the keyboard before an idea pops into my head, and I type in Maxim's name. I wouldn't have known his last name, but his slip-up today calling Umansky "Dad" clued me in.

It figures there'd be nepotism going on. That's how people like them roll.

They look at someone like me, who worked hard to make it out of a lower-middle-class working family through one of the most challenging science degrees, and question my place. Yet, they don't blink at making their psychotic, roided-up son the head of security on a more than likely multi-million dollar funded research project.

I snort at this fact and hit enter.

The screen flickers to reveal the results, and my eyes go wide. "Oh wow."

Court records come up first.

There's a long list of assault and solicitation charges. I snort here because, of course, he'd have to pay for it. That is until I realize that the solicitation and assault charges are connected. Then I see red.

My eyes track the outcomes, but it doesn't look like he spent any time in jail, which makes me shake my head in disgust. I guess because he was harming sex workers, no one could be bothered to care.

There is no mention of education anywhere, and when I dig deeper for a military career, I find nothing.

I scan the rest of the results, noting more of the same—assault, drunken disorderly, driving under the influence, and a few hate crimes sprinkled in for good measure. There's even a picture of him from a news article where he's standing on the street in an open-carry state, holding two automatic weapons as a protest goes on in front of him.

Stupid intimidation bullshit toward people who want justice.

All my search confirms is that Umansky isn't as impressive as he likes to tout, and Maxim is just as unhinged as he seems. Nothing that could help me shut down Genesis and get Byron out.

Closing my laptop, I check on Zora. She's curled up on the bed, her empty plate on the side table. Her desk light is still on, and her books are open. A glance over her work shows that it's complete and correct, which makes me smile.

For all her teenage attitude, my daughter has a stellar mind. She's excelled at academics since grade school and never met an extracurricular activity she didn't own.

My girl's a smartypants, and I've thanked the heavens more than I can count that her schooling didn't suffer when everything went down.

I know the effects on her mind are still there and that it'll take time to rebuild her trust in me, but I'm willing to put in the work to do that.

As I stare at the evidence of her genius, I realize that no matter how much leverage Umansky has over me, Zora can't become a part of that.

After all, I have leverage, too. Umansky needs me more than he's ever going to admit, but I know it.

Like my daughter, I have a stellar mind, and no one else can do what he needs to be done. If there were someone else, he would have fired me the second I started asking questions.

I let this reassurance calm me as I take Zora's dishes down, clean them, and then secure the house.

I check the locks twice and activate the alarm, just like I do every night.

Before, it was out of fear that the cage they'd put Lonny in wouldn't keep him away, but now, Max's sinister grin is what I see when I punch in the code.

A languorous shower eases the rest of the tension in my body, and I climb into bed in just my panties and a light tank.

Sleep seems to come for me the second I close my eyes, but then they blink open onto the inky darkness of an open field of tall grass.

It's the savannah.

I remember them from when Zo and I took our trip to Zimbabwe.

It's quiet. There are none of the night sounds I remember from the trip, just the moon, full and bright above—and a figure in the distance.

I would know him anywhere, and when he breaks into a run, rushing toward me, my body launches forward, too, meeting his in a clash of flesh before I'm dragged down into the tall, tall grass and filled with a searing thrust.