Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles) (27 page)

He looked so different and blinked back the confusion every time he passed a mirror. His dad was pissed that he still had his tattoos, especially the one on his right bicep, making Fillion smirk with satisfaction. But Hanley let it go after inspecting the healed piercings and the new hairstyle dyed with a DNA match so the grow-in wouldn’t show.

Now Fillion really looked like his mom and the Jayne side of the family. The trademark features of dark mahogany hair and light blue eyes were so different than his dad’s sandy brown hair and hazel eyes, and he was grateful. If he was going to have his dad’s academic aptitude and personality, at least he didn’t look like him.

When Fillion walked into the dining room the previous night, Hanley’s eyes had rounded and his mouth hung open while his skin actually turned a sickly shade of green. It was as if he had seen a ghost, making Fillion feel uncomfortable. Hanley quickly recovered and then went back to the business of preparing him to become part of New Eden, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. Fillion’s makeover was so radical that he felt confident that Leaf and Willow wouldn’t recognize him. They wouldn’t know Corlan Jayne, but Fillion Nichols knew them, and having that connection brought a small piece of comfort, even if it was one-sided.

Nevertheless, he was terrified, not knowing what to expect nor what would happen to him once inside. Were the people sane? So far, Willow and Leaf appeared to be in their right minds, but their family had been targeted for six years. Did it run further back to when Claire died? And how was his dad involved? Hanley had his power-hungry fingers in everything. As the Gamemaster, a role his dad had known most of his life, Fillion knew he was definitely a part of this story somehow.

An urge for a cigarette pulsed through him, and he reached inside his nightstand, pulling out a pack and his lighter. He lit up, inhaling a long breath, returning his attention to the holographic computer screen. The smoke clouded the images momentarily before the sharp colors greeted his wary gaze once more. He exited the message center and went back to work, thumbing through video clips between puffs. Fingers moved through information, hoping to find something that would explain the shut-off of communication and, now, Joel’s possible murder.

After an hour, he felt his eyes burn, straining from the holographic videos in his dark room. He preferred the darkness. Even so, he reasoned that he should turn the light on to ease his eyes. The warm spot around his body was too comfortable, though, so he decided to watch one more clip before getting up.

Fillion froze and his adrenaline kicked into high speed when the image of his mom came onto the video feed, Joel appearing on the other end of the split screen. Trembling fingers reached for another cigarette, and he swore after three tries to get a flame. He held his body still and then carefully flicked the lighter one more time, swearing in relief when a flame appeared.

With deeply furrowed brows, he watched their conversation. A sinking feeling swam around in his gut when his mom held expressions in her eyes and on her face he had never seen for Hanley. Joel was distracted, discussing the loss of Claire and the birth of Laurel, sharing snippets about Leaf and Willow Oak. Joel quieted with a tense posture when Della responded that she had a daughter named Lynden. The Earth Element lowered his head and nodded, working hard to avoid her eyes.

Fillion paused the video and thought of his sister, taking a much needed drag on his cigarette. Did she have similar features to Joel, Willow, or Leaf? Were visitors allowed before the doors were sealed shut again fifteen years ago when The Elements decided to stay inside? She was the right age for that possibility. Lynden’s hazel eyes belonged to their dad, not only in color, but also in shape. She also had Hanley’s mouth. Her natural hair color was the same as his own, a Jayne trait tracing back to their dark Irish roots. Joel was not her dad, but the name Lynden meant something to both of them, that much was clear. A shaky finger resumed the video, and he willed his breathing to calm as he continued to watch and listen, returning the cigarette to his mouth.

The remainder of their conversation was shallow, both uncomfortable after her comment regarding Lynden. Ready to sign off, Della placed her hand up to the screen and Joel did the same. Both stared into each other’s eyes for a long period of time until Joel began to speak again, whispering that he wished he could see her again. His mom began to cry, silent tears prettily trailing down her face as she mouthed the words, “I love you.”

Fillion paused the video again, unsure if he wanted to continue watching this clip. He pushed the butt of his cigarette into a cereal bowl next to his bed, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep his mind focused. Why had his mom married Hanley? Why had her engagement to Joel ended, and how did the Earth Element end up with Claire? With disgusted reluctance, he decided he should finish the Messenger Pigeon video in case there was a clue.

His finger tapped the “Play” prompt again, and he braced himself, feeling awkward as he watched his mom with another man. Willow’s dad. Joel looked broken and torn, as if he wanted to say the words back. Fillion knew he had just lost Claire, so perhaps he felt guilt? Della began to speak, sharing that she would see him during Project Phase Two, and to kiss his children for her.

A pang gripped Fillion’s heart at those words. When had his mom ever kissed him and Lynden as a doting mother? Did she reject him because he was Hanley’s DNA? Why was she still married to the man? Divorce was common. Just about every marriage ended in one eventually—for the very few who got married to begin with, that is. Hardly anyone married anymore, settling to co-exist in the same space playing house instead. Eventually, the relationship peaked to a boring existence and incompatibility replaced the foolish words of love
.
Exactly what was the point of marriage? It was as delusional as everything else in his culture.

The clip ended, and he sat on his bed awhile, staring at the light that attempted to filter into his room. God, he wished the black hole of his bedroom would consume him completely. At this moment, he understood why some reached out to injure themselves, setting their internal pain onto something external that they could watch heal as a deflection of hope. He touched the braided bracelets on his wrists, groping for some meaning to his life. There had to be. He wanted to believe the Green Morons. Everything around him supported their claims. But he wanted redemption, and rebelled against their delusions of grandeur. Fillion was sick of feeling dead, and tired of being Hanley’s puppet.

What did his dad have to do with all of this? Did his dad murder Joel to ensure Della never left him? As plausible as that sounded, it really didn’t make sense. If they were under communication silence, how would he orchestrate such a plan? Unless John’s cousin, the town lawyer, was involved somehow. Once again, he couldn’t buy into his thoughts. It was too far-fetched and melodramatic. His dad was too wily and would never do anything that could trace him to a murder so easily.

Fillion forced himself to look through previous email threads from his dad to Joel and Jeff, not finding anything incriminating or out of the ordinary. And it didn’t explain why death certificates were issued for the Watson children. Unless, were they unrelated events, belonging to individuals with different motives? Strangely, not a single email was sent to Joel about the loss of his children, not even an offer of sympathy.

He closed his eyes and turned off his Cranium, pulling it off his ear and tossing it onto his nightstand, thankful the voices of his mom and Joel no longer filled his head. Fillion wished for Willow’s voice instead, the lyrical cadence of her European tones a savored flavor to his ears. If he wasn’t crazy before, he certainly felt he was now. The voice of a dead man spoke inside his head, and he wished for the voice of his resurrected daughter instead.

With a groan, he grabbed the Cranium and placed it against his skull, turning it back on to delete the message session with Willow. Tired and disturbed, his fingers went into autopilot, programmed from years of experience. He deleted the bits that comprised their conversation thread, returning that section of the holographic memory back to its blank state. Fillion then reprogrammed the password to ensure Leaf didn’t have access before they met again.

Done. He turned his Cranium off, but left it on his ear, lying down on top of his covers and closed his eyes. The details were becoming convoluted in his head, his mind twisting and turning over words, phrases, expressions, and information until he thought his insides would scream and explode.

She was alive.

His soul latched onto those three words, meditating on Fate’s sick sense of humor. How would he feel once he stood before Willow, knowing he could reach out and touch her, his skin confirming the life coursing beneath hers?

His eyes felt heavy. He had nearly drifted to sleep on the thoughts of meeting Willow when his door slammed open and a shadow leaped onto his bed. Reaching out, he shoved the figure off his body, and heard a grunt followed by laughter. Mack sprawled out on the black floor, laughing hysterically. Fillion kicked Mack playfully in the side, swearing at him before flopping down on the edge of his bed.

“You should have seen your face!” Mack said through the laughter.

“You’re lucky you still have one,” Fillion replied back, giving him a cocky smile.

“Get a shirt on,
bishounen
. We’re going out.”

Fillion fell back on his bed stiffly with defeat. “I’m under house arrest. I can’t leave.”

“What? Shit. Man, you would have to get arrested and ruin all the fun. I’ve got to keep you from turning into a
hikikomori
.” Mack flashed his eyes at him in the dim light.

His friend was taunting him, so Fillion provided a humored smile even though he wasn’t in the mood. The sarcastic humor lightened the load in his mind a little, though.

His friend’s words sounded somewhat slurred. Was Mack drunk?

Mack walked into the hallway, and then returned with a bottle of whiskey. “That’s OK, I brought some liquid fun with me. Your fave, so let’s cheer you up.”

Yep, definitely drunk.

Mack twisted off the cap and handed the bottle to Fillion who took a long swig. “I’m surprised there’s no hair on that chest of yours, considering the way you drink this stuff.”

“Whiskey grows other things besides hair,” Fillion said, watching Mack grin appreciatively at his joke.

“Well, that’s good. You’ll need an extra pair on Saturday when you leave planet Earth and join Mars. Always good to pack more than you need, just in case.” His friend nodded with a wink.

Fillion joined Mack’s laughter and felt more of his trepidation ease.

Mack flopped next to him on the bed. “So, have you seen your pictures on the Net? The girls have gone
otaku
.”

“I don’t care.”

“Take another drink, you’ll feel up to it before too long.”

“Mack, don’t. You know how I feel about that stuff. I have enough to deal with, I don’t want to read what everyone is saying about me.”

“Not even the girls? Damn. Do you have any idea the amount of squeals and screams from every frilly pink bedroom in the nation at this moment?”

“Not interested. Pretend you’re me while I’m away and knock yourself out. I give you permission to be my official fake boy. Just don’t go too crazy on the
Sexy Henshin
.” Fillion gave Mack a sideways glance. “Since you’ve perfected the male transformation ninja technique, you risk the fangirls forming a mob.”

Mack laughed and shook his head. The first time Mack and Fillion entered The Crypt, Mack had teased that he could use his ninja superpowers to transform into the sexiest male in the room, giving the girls what they want while scaring away the competition—aka, the bad guys. It was his secret
jitsu
and a useful weapon. The drawback, as all powers have, is that he would transform into the sexiest male he could think of, always resulting in gibes from Fillion and others from their crowd. Over time, their humor evolved and morphed with each opportunity they had to apply their joke, and Fillion enjoyed the fun of trying to outwit his friend by displaying the larger ego.

Sobering, Mack gave Fillion a serious expression, the corners of his mouth resisting a smile. “Deal. But I’m not responsible for what happens in your name, Fillion. Male
Sexy Henshin
can have strong effects on the female persuasion. I’m too good a friend to use it in your company anymore, not wanting to steal the girls who
think
they like
bishies
. But I change their mind when you’re gone, showing them a real man.”

Fillion gave Mack another cocky smile. “They’ll
always
like
bishies
, Mack. Not even you can resist me. I’ve seen your
Sexy Henshin
, and I’m clearly the sexiest thing you think of when transforming.”

His friend flipped him off, taking the bottle of whiskey from his hands in a melodramatic swoop. Fillion laughed and reached for the bottle, earning a hard push from Mack as his friend sat next to him on the bed.

Fillion rolled his eyes in surrender. “OK, I won’t hold you responsible. You’re officially my fake boy,
Sexy Henshin
and everything. Have fun responding to all the fan mail.”