The Gender Lie(55)

“What do you mean?” I asked him.

“Did I ever tell you I was shot?” he said, his voice light and conversational.

I blinked, surprised at the change in topic. “Uh… no?”

“Because I was. On my first mission, actually.”

“How bad?”

“It tore through my liver and ruptured my spleen.” I watched him closely, not sure of what to say or how this related to Mr. Jenks. “The spleen I could do without,” Owen went on, “but the liver… well… that’s a different story. I had to be on dialysis for days while the doctors figured out what to do. Couldn’t get a transplant—we didn’t have the equipment or a donor. But… it turned out Matrus had developed a simple cure.”

“The bio implant?” I replied and he smiled.

“Yeah. Stem cells that could be attached and programmed to repair damaged flesh. Can’t be used on certain organs, like the heart, lungs, or brain, but it was a… miracle cure for lack of a better word. Desmond got it for me.”

I still felt confused. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Do you know who developed it?”

I shook my head.

“Mr. Jenks.”

“Oh,” I murmured.

“Yeah, oh. It’s kind of a crappy feeling, knowing that the one person who is responsible for destroying so many loved ones is ultimately the person who saved my life.”

His reply swirled in my mind as I tried to make sense of it all. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked again.

“You want to blame Mr. Jenks for your brother, and I get that—he did some bad stuff to him. But Violet… no person is ever the villain in their own mind. They’re just people who got confused between point A and point B.”

His point was clear now, and I spent some time considering it in silence, continuing my job of prying the substance off the wall. Owen worked quietly behind me, and then chuckled suddenly.

“What?” I asked as the sticky stuff finally came off with a wet sucking noise. I carefully smashed it into a ball and then placed it in another bag.

“I was just thinking that it’s too bad he isn’t around—I bet we could’ve kidnapped him and made him make some sort of miracle drug to help the boys.”

His words rattled around in my head, and then I felt a lightbulb switch on.

“Maybe not him…” I said thoughtfully.

Owen shot me a curious look, but I was already on the radio requesting to be brought back up. I clipped the radio back to my belt and looked at Owen, already starting to rise. “Thanks for the idea,” I called. “I’ll tell you about it later.”



An hour later, I was pacing in front of Desmond’s office, waiting for her to finish her meeting. Inside the office, a man I had never seen before was shaking Desmond’s hand. He had come in from The Green a few hours ago—which had the entire group buzzing. There were mentions of the name Dobin whispered in hushed tones—not that I had been paying much attention; my mind was focused on the vial in my hand and the implications it might have for Tim, Solomon, and the rest of the boys.

The door swung open and the strange man stepped out. I froze in the middle of my pacing, my booted foot landing heavily on the floor, making a dull sound. The man turned his head toward me and stared at me with a heavy gaze, his dark eyes glittering.

He was in his late thirties, but he was fit—not bulky, but in shape. He was taller than me by about four inches, and his dark hair was shaved close to his head. White was beginning to bleed through at his temples. He wore a beard that was closely trimmed, and his mouth was turned down in what appeared to be a perpetual frown.

The two of us stared at each other. I was distinctly uncomfortable with his scrutiny of me, but something about how he looked at me warned me to keep my gaze on him. My instincts were telling me that this was a dangerous man, one capable of deep violence. Like many predators, he seemed like he would respond to weakness, so my only call was to be calm and display a casual confidence.

I felt the seconds march by as we regarded each other. It took everything not to exhale in relief as he turned away, heading for the door. I watched him closely as he opened it and stepped through. I kept my gaze on the door until it had closed.

Then I exhaled. Turning my eyes back to Desmond, I could see her standing in front of the glass, her arms crossed and her eyes watching me. They surveyed me up and down, seemingly assessing my posture. I straightened my spine and met her gaze evenly.

We hadn’t talked since the incident in the cafeteria, but I didn’t get the sense she was angry with me—just busy. However, I really wanted her to make time for me. She waved her hand for me to enter and I sprang forward, eager to share my idea.