Insubstantially Me

Chapter 43

In the dark, it seemed like another laboratory, cold, sterile, and unexceptional.

Why would Mark want me to look in here?

Slapping the white switch on the wall, I stepped further inside, squinting momentarily from the overly bright lights that came to life.

It reminded me of the room I'd been confined to. The furniture was all modern-looking, expensive, and lacked any real color. But my initial assessment hadn't been that far off either because part of it did seem to be a lab.

For a second, I looked around, confused. Why they would have a half laboratory-half bedroom without a bed? Then I noticed the boxy piece of furniture to my left.

Part of me wanted to run away, suddenly fully understanding why Mark told me to come in here. But another part - the part that had my feet in motion before I consciously made a decision to move - needed to see for myself.

Wide-eyed and trembling, I reached the cold, white railing and peeked over it to see the tiny, sleeping person in the crib.

Did Wescott do it? Did he actually take my DNA to create this child? Was this my child?

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just a baby. Like me, maybe, but not mine in any way. I had such little experience with babies, I couldn't guess how old this one was. He looked like he might be about a year. Or maybe I was way off. Either way, I had no basis for figuring out if he was alive before I'd been brought here. The likelihood of him being mine if he was older than that, was pretty slim. Not impossible though.

As I stood there, the brown-haired little boy awoke and stared up at me with large intelligent eyes that were almost the exact color of mine.

That did it for me. Maybe it wasn't a DNA test, but it was good enough in my mind. Besides, my child or not, no one deserved to be trapped in this cold, unfeeling place. Especially not for their entire life.

Going to the chest of drawers, I began pulling out the first things my hands touched, piling them in a heap on top. There was no suitcase, of course, so I grabbed a folded pillow case and shoved everything inside.

Luckily there was a diaper bag, in one of the bottom drawers. Pulling it out, I shoved as many diapers and anything else that looked useful inside it before slinging it across my body.

Now for the hard part. I walked cautiously back to the crib, where the boy in soft, blue footie pajamas was standing and watching me curiously. Would he scream when I picked him up? Would this be completely pointless because a frightened toddler would make stealth impossible?

"It's alright," I said softly, reaching for him.

To my relief, he didn't start to wail when I gripped him under his arms. He just continued to watch me, wondering what I was doing.

As much as I needed this little boy to be quiet, I was disgusted by his lack of reaction. He must be accustomed to strange people doing strange things to him at strange times. How much has he been through in his short life?

"Come on." I lifted him out of the crib and balanced him on my hip. "We're getting out of here."

I took a step but hesitated, remembering the chip that Wescott put in my leg. What if the baby had one too?

Setting him on the dresser, I quickly opened the legs of his pajamas, looking for a scar.

Thankfully, there wasn't one.

Just to be safe, I checked his arms too. The skin there was just as smooth and undisturbed.

It was possible that Wescott found some other way to do it, but it seemed unlikely. If he wanted a trace on this child, he would do it the same way as he did with me. Besides, he told me they'd only given me the chip when they decided to send me to my parents, and I doubted that this little boy was scheduled to go anywhere.