Unfurl by Cidney Swanson Read Free Book Online Page A

from Pfeffer to back that up as well as Sir Walter’s accounts.
    Two: Helmann had purged those with the gene to ripple, both during WWII and within the last decade. Although Hans had blamed Helga for the more recent purges, when I’d eavesdropped on them last fall.
    Three: Helmann thought it was a justifiable act to end the lives of anyone he chose. I’d seen that in the video we’d watched, and Hans’ claims just now backed this up.
    Four: Helmann wanted me alive even though at one point he tried to have me killed.
    Another knock at my door.
    “What?” I asked, irritated by the interruption.
    A nurse entered the room, trailing medical paraphernalia.
    “I haven’t said yes,” I said. A chill raced along my spine.
    “I just need to take your vitals,” he said. “Now,” he added when I didn’t respond. He held a blood pressure cuff in one hand.
    “My vitals are fine,” I said. But then I wondered if this was true. I still felt very strange inside if I tried to focus on it. My insides were too much like … Jell–o. Maybe I needed monitoring, thanks to whatever drug Hans had used to prevent me from rippling. I extended an arm, sighing.
    The nurse checked my pulse, clipped something to my index finger, and took a blood–pressure reading without speaking to me.
    “So, how am I?” I asked.
    “All within expected parameters,” replied the nurse, wrapping the cuff into a tight roll.
    “That’s good?” I asked, hoping for a more definitive response.
    “All as expected,” said the nurse, quickly exiting the room.
    I sighed and closed my eyes to re–collect my scattered thoughts.
    What did I know about Hans?
    He’d murdered my mom and my childhood friend. Now he spoke of regrets. Did he regret his murders? Was he telling the truth about himself? About his father?
    Sir Walter agreed that Helmann had loved Elisabeth, and he said her only living descendents came from children she’d had with someone besides Helmann. So that part was probably true: that Helmann wished she’d had his children. The journal translations indicated strong feelings for his wife. Especially all that scribbling in the margins about “Elisabeth is dead.”
    But Sir Walter said Helmann had plans beyond the so–called “elimination of suffering.” That he planned to reward followers with the gene I carried, one which would allow his followers to live lives of extraordinary lengths. I thought back to the video Sir Walter had sent us. Helmann had asked those assembled to imagine a future where their children lived free of war, disease and poverty with enough time in which to enjoy such lives.
    So what did I have to do with this vision? He already had the gene for rippling and extending lives. Heck, Hans carried that gene. Helga had carried it, as had Deuxième, her child. They didn’t need me for the gene.
    So why did they need me? Or more precisely, one of my eggs?
    Could it be as simple as Hans said? That Helmann was now old–and–wise enough to retire and pour himself into the raising of a child he’d thought he could never have: one with Elisabeth’s blood flowing in its veins?
    The door opened again. Room Service stepped inside, his Brooks still trailing sand.
    “Can I get you anything? Food? More hot chocolate?”
    I stared at his shoes. “Nice Brooks,” I said.
    Looking flustered, he glanced at his feet.
    “I guess you can’t discuss running with me either?” I asked, curious how he’d respond.
    “They’re worth every penny,” he said. A tiny grin lit his face but was quickly extinguished. “More hot chocolate?”
    “No thanks.”
    “Is there anything else I can get you?”
    I shook my head and he left. Too late, I thought of something.
    “A Do Not Disturb sign would be nice,” I said to the empty room. It was like Hans didn’t want me to have peace and quiet in which to make an informed decision. I sighed. Of course he didn’t.
    I’d burned through another hour or more, yet I felt no closer to making a