Confessions of a Murder Suspect

70

Harry went straight to his studio at Lincoln Center to burn off some steam, but Hugo walked home with me. As we passed a corner bodega, he stopped in his tracks.

“Hey, Tandy,” he said. “Let’s do something crazy.”

“What?” I asked, baffled. I was more than a little worried about all of Hugo’s newfound anger and how he was planning to channel it.

“Come in here,” he said, dragging me into the bodega. “Let’s get something we were never allowed to eat at home.”

And that’s how we ended up back at the Dakota, eating a box of instant macaroni and cheese for lunch at about 10:30 AM.

“This is vile,” I commented, reading the ingredients on the package. “I have to agree with Malcolm and Maud on this one. Like they always said, ‘You are what you eat.…’ ”

So, what was I, then? What were my brothers? What was my sister Katherine before she was run down in Africa? What were the ingredients in our father’s pills?

Not knowing what I’d been swallowing every night for the whole of my life made me question every single thing about myself, down to the size of my feet and the length of my eyelashes.

“So what do we do now?” Hugo asked me.

“Want to help me with my investigation?” I asked him in response.

I didn’t have to ask twice.

I grasped the key to my father’s home laboratory, which I’d hung from a cord around my neck, and slid it back and forth. I planned to keep the key with me until I had searched Malcolm’s lab and computer and found out precisely what the pills were made of and what their side effects were.

I opened the laboratory door and hit the lights. Hugo scooted past me, opened a small refrigerator, and took out a bottle of lemonade. I figured he’d been spying on Malcolm for so long that he knew where everything was in this place.

“What did Matthew tell you about this operation?” I asked Hugo.

“Don’t make me snitch on Matty,” Hugo said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Whatever they are, whatever they do, I like my pills. I’m going to keep taking them. I don’t want to change. I like myself the way I am.”

I had to laugh. I liked him, too.

“We don’t know what the long-term effects are,” I said, moving toward the computer.

“The short-term effects are that I whooped Colin Baxter’s butt. He’s not going to mess with any of us ever again.”

“Either that or the next time he runs into you, he’ll be armed.”

“Oh,” Hugo said. “Good point.”

The computer was still on and its documents still open, just as Harry had left it. I went directly to the memo file and skimmed many years’ worth of the back-and-forth exchange between Peter and Malcolm.

One e-mail from Peter to Malcolm read: “Tried adding four RepX on 4/13. No sign of side effects. Will keep an eye out and increase three Genner2.0 to force results.”

Malcolm’s response read: “Agreed. May decrease focus to increase Genner2.0, but can compensate with one Plav.”

It was chilling to read how casually these “supplements” were discussed. My siblings and I were mentioned, but the memos weren’t explicit enough to tell me what I really wanted to know. After another two hours of document review, the question remained: What exactly were our pills made of, and what had they done to us? Could it be reversed?

And if so, was that what I wanted to happen?

Being a “normal” girl had only gotten me into trouble before. Was I ready to try it again now that Malcolm and Maud were out of the picture? I trembled at the memory that was itching to be recognized, relived. My failed attempt at normalcy.

One investigation of mine might be hitting a wall, I thought, but I knew exactly where I had to go to start confronting the mystery of my own history.

I left the lab with Hugo in tow and shut the door behind us.

“Hugo, I think I need to be alone for a little while now,” I told him. “Are you okay hanging out by yourself?”

“Sure,” Hugo said. “Are you… okay?”

I smiled. “Fine, Hugo. In fact, I think I’m about to have a breakthrough.”

And I knew exactly where to start: that file in the cabinet I’d stumbled on earlier while searching Samantha’s room. The one labeled J.R.

It was time to get real.