of hatred. “Yeah. I have a son that I’m responsible for.
And a daughter. My mother. A family I’m responsible for. It’s not as
easy for me as it is for a smartass loner like you.” I was sickened
that, once friends, we had come to this.
The entire police department of Moonlight Bay had been co-opted by those
higher authorities responsible for concealing the terrors spawned at
Wyvern. The cops’ reasons for cooperating were numerous, fear foremost,
misguided patriotism, wads of hundred-dollar bills in prodigious
quantities that only black-budget projects can provide.
Furthermore, they had been impressed into the search for the troop of
rhesuses and human subjects that escaped the lab more than two years
ago, and on that night of violence, most had been bitten, clawed, or
otherwise infected, they were in danger of becoming, so they agreed to
be participants in the conspiracy, with the hope of being first in line
for treatment if a cure for the retrovirus was discovered.
Manuel couldn’t be bought with mere money. His patriotism was not of the
misguided variety. Sufficient fear can bring any man to heel, but it
wasn’t fear that had corrupted Manuel.
The research at Wyvern had led to catastrophe, but also to positive
discoveries. Evidently, some experiments have resulted in genetic
treatments that are promising.
Manuel sold his soul for the hope that one of those experimental
treatments would transform Toby. And I suspect he dreams of his son
achieving intellectual and physical transformation.
The intellectual growth might well be possible. We know that some of the
Wyvern work included intelligence-enhancement research and that there
were startling successes, as witness Orson.
“How’s Toby doing? ” I asked.
As I spoke, I heard a stealthy but telltale sound behind me. A drawer
sliding open. The knife drawer.
When I had interposed myself between Bobby and Manuel, I’d meant only to
defuse the escalating tension between them, not to provide cover for
Bobby to arm himself. I wanted to tell him to chill out, but I didn’t
know how to do so without alerting Manuel.
Besides, there are occasions when Bobby’s instincts are better than
mine. If he thought this situation was inevitably leading to violence,
perhaps he was right.
Apparently, my question about Toby had masked the sound of the drawer,
because Manuel gave no indication of having heard it.
A fierce pride, both touching and terrifying, couldn’t drive out his
anger, the two emotions were darkly complementary. “He’s reading.
Better. Faster. More comprehension. Doing better at math. And what’s
wrong with that? Is that a crime? ” I shook my head.
Although some people make fun of Toby’s appearance or shun him, he’s the
image of gentleness. With his thick neck, rounded shoulders, short arms,
and stocky legs, he reminds me of the good gnomes from the adventure
stories that delighted me in childhood. His sloped and heavy brow,
low-set ears, and soft features, and the inner epicanthic folds of his
eyes, give him a dreamy aspect that matches his sweet and gentle
personality.
In spite of his burdens, Toby has always been happy and content.
I worry that the Wyvern crowd will raise his intelligence far enough to
leave him dissatisfied with his life but not far enough to give him an
average IQ. If they steal his innocence and curse him with a
self-awareness that leaves him anguished, trapping him between livable
identities, they will destroy him.
I know all about unfulfillable longing, the fruitless yearning to be
what one can never be.
And although I find it difficult to believe that Toby could be
genetically engineered into a radically new appearance, I fear that if
any such attempt were made, he might become something he wouldn’t be
able to bear seeing in the mirror. Those who don’t perceive beauty in
the face of a Down’s-syndrome person are blind to all beauty or are so
fearful of difference that they must at once turn away from every
encounter with it. In every face in even the plainest and the most
unfortunate countenances there is some precious aspect of the divine
image of which we are a reflection, and if you look with an open heart,