LLH 8.6

“Inheritance” by Roentgen

On Tom Sloane's flight, there wasn't much to talk about. His father, Angier, sat next to him in first class.

Tom was not used to spending this much time with his father. He always saw his father as a somewhat pleasant but remote figure that seemed to be able to look through whatever Tom might be trying to hide or conceal. It wasn't that Tom hated his father, not at all, but he had more fun whenever his father wasn't looking over his shoulder -- he preferred being left alone.

Now, Tom was taking a business trip. The Biggest Business Trip of All Time. He would be introduced to people like him, people like his father, his mother, and like Jane and the rest of the Legionnaires but in a different way. He missed Jane.

His dad had been riding his butt the whole way. Tom's suit was brand new, his shoes were brand new, everything was brand new. His hair was combed in that way that his mother liked and that he hated. It was as if he was going to a funeral, his funeral. There were all kinds of reminders.

"Don't speak to them. If there's any hope of you realizing your power, of your using it even for trivial things like clearing brush or making cupcakes, I wouldn't unsettle these people. They make the decision as to who hatches and who doesn't -- and their word is final!"

Right, Dad. Be a good little boy. Tom inwardly grumbled. He wished Jane were here. They could both mock this strange situation together. Even so, he resolved to be good. Because, if he had powers, there was the outside chance that someday the Legion would accept him and he could escape the Sloane legacy completely and finally be his own man.

(* * *)

Brittany Taylor walked into San Diego International Airport, and turned more than a few heads. Her pink sweat pants hugged the curves of her body, and her pink t-shirt framed her generous upper anatomy, despite its thickness. Her sunglasses rested at the top of her head and as she looked for ground transportation, every head turned as if it were a sprinkler head.

She was a big blonde knockout. People were just so nice! If you're cheerful, people will be nice to you!! Even the taxi-cab guy moved her right to the front of the line because she was so cheerful! But he had some sort of twitch in his eye. Poor guy! She hoped he got it fixed.

The cab driver seemed to keep a very close eye on her. Or at least, he kept sneaking looks back at her in his rearview mirror. Brittany was glad that the cabbie was so concerned about her safety. She felt safe, and went to rummage through her bunny purse.

The hard part was getting all of the slips of paper out of the way. Since she was in the first class section of the plane, she got all kinds of phone numbers from businessmen who wanted to help her out and invite her to dinner or to their hotels. Brittany sighed. She couldn't accept all of their invitations, because it wouldn't be fair to the ones she turned down. Maybe next time, she'd have the chance to meet them all.

She pulled a camouflage-patterned cell phone out of the purse and called the phone number.

<"Quest Security. This is Jeff Dells speaking.">

"Hiiiiieeee Jeff! This is Brittany! Brittany Taylor!"

<"Oh hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee Brittany."> Brittany could hear Jeff chuckle. <"What's up?">

"Nothing! I just wanted to know if you had made any progress."

<"Very, very hard to do. But I did find something. I do think your mother must have moved from Hollywood to San Diego at some point several years ago. I'm just coming up on a dead end here. You'll have to be patient. I'm about to use the "big guns" of computing power, and I might have an answer by this afternoon.">

"Thanks! Bye!"

Brittany had never had the time in her life to look for her mother. But now, she was getting closer. It was the only question she had ever wanted answered in her life.

(* * *)

The limousine had arrived at its destination. It was some unknown part of New York City. It makes sense, thought Tom to himself. They run everything. This is where the world is run. Wall Street. All the major corporations. The United Nations. I'm starting to sound like one of those crackpots. Tom shivered. He made up things like that in his head sometimes. He found conspiracies and conspiratorial thinking fascinating. Now, he felt like a butterfly pinned to cardboard. I'm unable to move my wings. I'm pinned.

The two men stepped out. The building did not have a name, but it had a reception area. Tom assumed that anyone who had a real reason to be here would know what the building was about.

"I'm Angier Sloane," Tom's father told the receptionist. "I'm here about my son."

The young woman nodded. "Right this way, Sir."

Is she one of them? Can she read minds? Does she really know what's going on? Is she some kind of pawn? Could she kill me if she wanted to?

It was time to step into the elevator. Instead of rising into the New York City sky, Tom felt as if he were falling from a great height. Whatever power he possessed, Tom felt helpless. He was no longer in control of his fate.

(* * *)

Brittany ran.

She was jogging. It was a real effort to jog. The old joke was sadly true -- she was in danger of being beaten to death with her own tits whenever she ran. Therefore, she had to wear a bra that was about as comfortable as wearing armor plating and allowed virtually no mobility for her boobs. (When she practiced her martial arts at the Quarry, she did indeed wear plastic armor over her upper body, to prevent her breasts from being injured. She was glad no one was watching her during those sessions, which were done with a female member of Major Armalin's staff.) It would take about fifteen minutes for the red lines on her skin to go away when she took it off.

Still, it was better to jog than to think. Daria would have known how to think, what to think, but Daria wasn't there. (The thought of asking Upchuck for anything, opinion or otherwise, was out of the question.)

What would she say when she met her mother? "Hi Mom, it's your little girl, Brittany! I guess you're about ten years late getting home, huh?"

Brittany looked up at her mother. Her mother was holding Brian in her arms. Brittany could still remember it. Blue eyes with bags under them and a thousand yard stare, as if she were looking Death right in the eyes.

"Mommy? Are you okay?" Mommy hadn't come out of the bedroom in three days.

"Mommy's okay, Brittie." Her mother said it without any change of intonation or inflection. "I'm just tired. Mommy might go visit her mommy and daddy for a while. Okay?"

The little six-year old girl looked up, and looked away. Then, she remembered that she could play with her Barbies until Mommy got better.

Mommy was gone the next day. Mommy didn't even say goodbye.

Brittany's next step was right off the curb. She landed flat on her face. She looked up, and seeing that no one appeared to be watching her, she wiped the tears from her cheek and decided to walk back to the hotel room.

(* * *)

Tom looked at his brand new, expensive watch. "Dad, how long do we have to wait?"

Under his breath, Angier muttered. "However long it takes, son. However long it takes." Tom got the impression that his father was distinctly uncomfortable.

"Did you have to do this, Dad?"

"Yeah. I don't think anyone's looked into my mind since then. At least...not that I would know. That's the hard part. You don't know what anyone else around you has. You don't know what they can do if they don't share it with you. I just didn't like the idea that someone could just sift through the contents of my mind, and examine all the pieces at their leisure, and use some criteria of their own choosing to determine if I was good enough for them, or not."

And now, Dad, you've put into words how I feel being a Sloane. "Dad...what if I don't get in? What if they don't let me use any powers?"

"Then you're one of the lucky ones. You get all the benefits...and none of the responsibilities." Tom decided not to question what that meant.

(* * *)

Brittany looked at the photograph.

It was of a woman with long blond hair and blue eyes. The woman didn't look like Brittany in the face. Not too much, thought Brittany. Up front, the woman -- her mother -- was okay. Not as big as Brittany. Brittany found out that came from her father's side, when she looked through the family album at her Grandmother Jo. Her dad said GrannyJo was really popular when she was young. And she was a cheerleader, too!!

All of the memories she had of her mother were a decade old. What would she say to her mother now?

She didn't know what she would say. Maybe her mother would say something to her.

"Brittany, I'm sorry I left and I never came back! I've been keeping up with you since you were gone! Head Cheerleader! And a member of the Legion! I'm so proud of you!!"

"Brittany, how is Brian? How is your little brother? I miss him so much!"

"Brittany, how's your father doing....?"

"Daddy! Valentine's supposed to be RED!!"

"Sweetie," sighed Steve Taylor, "we're all out of red paper. Brittany, you can have hearts of any color you want!" He had never imagined that creating a container for Valentine's Day cards would be so difficult. Brittany had a pre-conceived notion of how a Valentine's Day card box should look and she was inconsolable.

This was the kind of stuff the nanny did. But the nanny wasn't here tonight. Her family was ill. It was so frustrating. He was a great ad exec, but they were riding his ass on the TWA account and now he felt he couldn't even sell a simple box design concept to a seven-year old.

"Honey," said Steve Taylor with a plastered on smile, "What about orange? Orange is a color just like red -- !"

" -- NO!! It's gotta be RED!!" Brittany began to bawl. "They'll laugh at me at school!"

The frustration of his job and the loss of his wife -- who had disappeared to God-Knows-Where finally got to him. His in-laws had clammed shut and he had been left to raise a seven year old and a newborn all on his own. "GOD-DAMMIT BRITTANY, can't you give me a shiting BREAK for ONCE IN MY LIFE?!?"

Her father's voice was so loud that it almost made her ears ring. Brittany stopped crying and ran upstairs as fast as she could.

She had crawled into her bed as fast as she could. Before she could began crying, silently, she heard the heavy THUMP-THUMP-THUMP of footprints up the stairs!

Brittany rushed to the door and locked it. She was frightened.

"Brittany!" She could hear the loud voice of her father and the struggle he had to open a locked door. "BRITTANY!!"

Brittany hid under the covers.

Unexpectedly, Brittany heard a loud CRACK! as Steve Taylor forced his way through the flimsy privacy lock, ran through the forced-open door and rushed to the bedroom. Brittany could feel her father's hands searching desperately under the covers.

As he grabbed the protective blanket away from her, Brittany screamed!

Her father grabbed her. But instead of hurting her, or yelling at her, all Brittany could hear was her father's sobs. It was such a strange thing for her. She had never seen, never heard, never felt her father cry before.

"Brittany," he whispered, "it's so hard...now that Mommy's gone...! Sometimes...Daddy can lose his temper. I just want you to know that I'll never leave you, Brittany. I'll always be there for you, whenever you need me!"

"Okay," Brittany whispered back, "okay."

"We'll go to the store and we'll buy you some red paper. You can have all the red paper you want."

"That's okay, Daddy," Brittany said, reaching out to her father. "I like all the colors now."

"My dad is doing well," Brittany said to no one in the room. "But I still miss you, Mommy. I always have."

(* * *)

There was a rustle at the connecting door. The Sloanes stood up like soldiers.

Four people -- two men and two women -- entered the room. The two men who entered were black, very black, with the facial features that conveyed African ancestry. One of the women was overweight, and seemed Asian or Polynesian. The other woman was dressed in hijab, her head covered and wearing another garment that concealed what shapeless form there was of her body.

"You are Thomas Sloane?" one of the men said. Tom nodded.

"Sit here," offered the man, pulling a chair away from the conference table. "Do we have proof of pedigree?" the man asked his father.

Angier Sloane pulled out a passbook about as twice as long as a passport. The document folded out and the man, who did not give his name, read the document.

"We are convinced," said the man. He turned to Tom. "Today, we are about to welcome you into the family. Our family. The greater family of the world, the family of the true human beings. Are you ready to join the family?"

"Sure," muttered Tom, mostly out of fear.

The man smiled. "There is nothing to fear. Shall I allay your fears for you?" Tom nodded again.

This time, the man talked again. But he did not talk with words. He talked with his thoughts, and the warmness of his thoughts touched Tom in a way that was like a day on the ocean with a warm wind or when he was under the covers with Jane, embracing her.

We, or those like us, met you when you were but an infant. We have been watching you and we know you intimately. There were four of us then, as well. There is a part of the mind that controls the gifts, but when you were very, very small four of us together bound that part of the mind. You have not missed that part of the mind, as you did not even know that it existed.

Today, Thomas Lyman Sloane, you will come into your full inheritance. But your inheritance is not showy powers. It does not come in the tricks that we have outgrown. Rather, it comes in the love and protection of those who are like you. It is in the joining of this community, sharing its loves, its fears, its desires and making those loves, fears, and desires your own. As you have shared with us -- shared your thoughts, unwillingly -- we must reciprocate and give back a measure of what we kept from you so many, many years. Your father has provided you with wealth, with love, and with prosperity, but that is only a small part of what you are offered.

And, if you have lived the kind of life that is exemplary, then that part of your mind shall be unbound and your body shall be given leave to do full work among us. But it is a special work that not everyone can do. Many are of the blood, my child, but few are pristine.

Do you fear where we are about to go, Thomas Sloane? Do you fear the four of us treading the corners of your soul?

Tom did not say it. But he could not help think it! Yes...yes, I am afraid.

Then, "said" the man, you shall drift off to sleep and you shall not even notice the intrusion. We shall be as thieves. You shall sleep, sleep soundly and happily.... And Tom felt himself losing consciousness...but did not struggle to remain awake. Oddly enough...he felt safe.

(* * *)

Brittany received a call from Jeff Dells the next morning. "Brittany...I found your mother," he said. Dells's voice sounded heavy, and tired, as if something awful had happened.

"Oh no!" cried Brittany. "Tell me she's not dead!"

"No. She's here in San Diego. Brittany, I know that you and I only know each other through these brief phone calls we've had...but I would like to ask you not to go to the address I've given you. Go back to Lawndale, live a happy life, and take no more thought of your mom."

"I wish I could," she said, "I didn't think about Mom for a long time. But...now that I can't go to high school and I'm not head cheerleader and I don't have a boyfriend and the Legion can't join together...I don't have time to do anything else! I have to see where my Mom is! You don't have to tell me what happened! I'll always love her."

"Okay. I'll give you the address. Just...forgive me for finding her, okay?"

(* * *)

Angier looked on at the sight.

Tom had lolled backward in his chair, as the four held it upright with their free hands. Each of the four had placed a finger to Tom's head. There was complete silence in the room. They're discussing what they've learned, Angier said to himself, but they don't use words. They've moved beyond words. They speak in pure thought.

"My son...!"

The other man spoke. "Yes?"

"Is he...will he be allowed to manifest? Will he use his gifts? Will he be like Kay and I?"

The large woman spoke. "No. Your son is not meant to walk that path. Perhaps your daughter shall walk it. Perhaps not. But your son will have the love of the greatest family on earth."

"Tom will be disappointed," Angier said to himself.

"We know," said the woman with her head covered. "Disappointments fade in time. And your son is young."

"Thomas Sloane will not be disappointed. He shall get to use his power."

It was not Angier's voice, nor Tom's, nor the voice of the other four. Angier turned to notice that John Dynell had entered the room.

"Who are you?" demanded the first man.

"My name is John Dynell. I am a Director of Operations for this part of the Eastern United States, in charge of security. I am overriding your decision."

"That cannot be done."

Dynell pulled out a piece of paper. "This document gives me control of a Black Box operation in this part of the United States and allows me to direct, and I quote, "all Elite resources in furtherance of this unnamed directive. It is signed by Furmaan Singh. I now declare Thomas Sloane an Elite resource. And I declare you to be Elite resources as well, to be used at my pleasure.

"Now," said Dynell, giving the orders, "the mental blocks are to be removed. And new mental programming is to be added."

"You want us to coerce him!" said the Arab woman.

"And now, you're reading my mind, without my permission. How rude of you. Because this is a Black Box directive, you will follow my orders. I will provide the hypnotic suggestions through my mind and you will convey those to young Thomas. You'll get the message but you won't understand the context or what it means." He looked dead at the woman. "Read my mind again, and you'll be moved to Kurdistan. You can deal with me, or you can deal with the Peshmerga."

Angier was confused. "John...what...?"

"I want you to leave the room, Angier. We'll discuss this later. Your son is destined for a greatness that unfortunately, I cannot allow you to completely understand. Tonight, I'll tell you all...that is necessary for you to know." It was understood between the two of them that the information Angier would receive would only be necessary information, and not sufficient.

(* * *)

As Brittany drove, she looked at the address. It was taking her away from the city of San Diego and further and further out towards the East, away from the ocean, on roads ever more lonely and removed from habitation.

There were green signs that read "TIERRA BARONA" that she noticed along the roadside, green signs posted by the State of California, guideposts for the traveler. Dells had told her to follow Tierra Barona Drive "all the way to the end".

The signs soon stopped. Finally, she made her way to a building, a white building large in the glistening California sun:

Brittany read the sign:

TIERRA BARONA INTENSIVE TREATMENT AND RESEARCH FACILITY

Underneath the sign was the Bear Seal of California, marking the building as belonging to the State.

She pulled into the parking lot, and confused, made her way to the front lobby. There were two guards chatting with each other, and a lone secretary behind a glass partition.

"Excuse me!" said Brittany. "I'm here to see...uh...Vivian Sizemore." Dells told Brittany that her mother was going by her maiden name.

"I see. Are you a family member?"

"Yes, ma'am! I'm her daughter! I'm Brittany Taylor!"

The woman looked sympathetic. "Is Ms. Sizemore a staff member, or a resident?"

"Uh...she lives here."

"Please have a seat. Someone will be with you." It wasn't long before a staff member named "Alex" (or at least, it was what his nametag said) arrived, an older man wearing a green nurse's smock.

"You're Brittany Taylor? Right this way."

The two guards nodded. Brittany discovered that the two guards were the choke point to the elevator, which was right behind them in a hidden nook. The guards moved aside and Brittany and Alex entered the elevator. Alex pushed "9" and the old machine lurched up.

"Have you ever been here before, Brittany?"

"No. Uh...what is this place?"

Alex frowned. "Brittany...this is a long-term psychiatric facility, recently opened by the State of California and partially funded by private money. We're doing research into incurable mental illness."

"Incurable?" Oh my God. My mother is...crazy.

Alex knew something was off. "We can talk when they buzz us in."

(* * *)

Brittany spent as much time looking as Alex would allow her. There were people wandering about. All of them wore white. None of them looked quite right. Some just stared straight ahead. One sat against the wall. Two others watched TV as one giggled incessantly. Only the staff looked different, wearing green, and only seeming half as crazy.

There, she met the social worker who informed Brittany of her mother's condition. She learned that her mother suffered from severe schizophrenia. (They called it "undifferentiated".) The symptoms included disorganized speech, blunted mood, self-isolation, and paranoid delusions.

"Your mother is in a good state today. She's been compliant with her medications for about nine weeks. Sometimes she will say things that don't make sense. It might be shocking, but you have to understand that that's how her disease expresses itself. She also has erroneous beliefs that fade in and out. In her worst stages, she believes that the staff are aliens and are trying to eat her. She can be very violent then. Most schizophrenics are not violent people, but Vivian is an exception. That's why she's here and not in an outpatient facility. Right now, she's out of her violent stage, but she could slide back in it at any time.

"When you see her, you'll be accompanied by Alex. She gets along well with Alex, for the most part. If Vivian begins to exhibit really poor behavior today, you need to take Brittany out, Alex."

"Got it."

"This will be very hard for your mother to understand, Brittany. Frankly, I don't know how she's going to react to your being here. She hasn't had many visitors."

Alex took Brittany out of the room. As they walked the corridor, they passed a man wearing short pants and a floppy hat. He must have been about eighty.

"Bad weather today, Mr. Caudill?"

"Not too bad," said the older man, "might rain today. Gonna get out and enjoy it."

The two went to a room. Brittany waited alone for a few moments. She wondered if there would be other...crazy people, people wandering into the room, insane, jabbering, who would try to attack her our assault her. She knew she could turn invisible but the thought of even making momentary human contact with someone like that was enough to assault Brittany's inner peace.

Alex returned. He was accompanied by a smallish woman with blond hair down to her shoulders. The woman wore what appeared to be white scrubs with an elastic band. She wore no makeup, but she looked just like the picture that she kept next to her bed.

It was her mother.

"Vivian," said Alex, "this is your daughter, Brittany."

"Oh Hello, Britty," said Vivian, offhandedly, as if Vivian had never left, never fled to Hollywood and had just spoken to Brittany five minutes ago.

"...Mom?"

"Yes, Britty. How are you?"

Brittany began to cry. "I'm all right, Mom! I'm fine...I didn't know you were here! I'm so sorry, Mom! But now that I'm here...I'll see you! I'll see you whenever I can, Mom!!"

"No, Britty. You can't see me."

"...Mom? Don't you want to talk to me?"

"Of course, Britty. I love you Britty. But the New Testament."

"...huh?"

"Vivian, what are you thinking?" said Alex.

"It's the New Testament, Brittay. The New Testament Men and I've got to get away and get you away from the New Testament Men."

"...like...preachers?"

"No, not preachers, Brittany. They come and they come. If you look, you can see them looking everywhere and when I heard the voices, Britty, I said "Get away from Britty and Brian". So they tried everything to stop it. They tried aliens."

"...Vivian." Alex spoke more strongly.

"...which would try to come Britty, except when they don't come. But they come and they don't come. The hills of Hollywood have alien pressure, like a cat's trap. There would be a cat's trap and there wouldn't be aliens." Vivian looked at her daughter. "You understand Britty? The cat's trap?"

"...the cat's trap...." mumbled Brittany, as her tears fell, as she felt as if she had heard word of the death of a loved one.

"...yes, Brittany," said Vivian, now crying herself. "The cat's trap is for you. Love everyone. Love everything. You can fight it. You can fight it." Vivian wiped her nose with her forearm. "I can't do it, Alex. I have to go. I have to go."

"Sure, Vivian. We'll go back to the lounge where you can read. Brittany," said Alex, with a hard note of finality. "I'm sorry. I have to take Vivian out. Do you want to talk?"

"No," she said. "No." Brittany resolved to never come back to San Diego, never to come back to this place, not if she could help it. There was nothing she could do for her mother. She could provide money, make sure that Vivian had nice things, things as nice as Vivian would be allowed to have. But there was something that Brittany couldn't buy for Vivian. And there was something, Brittany finally knew, that she would never be allowed to have, no matter how much money she had.

Her real mother was gone. And Brittany would forever be reaching out...but never, never really touching that which was once so much a part of her. The hug, the kiss, the touch of the face would forever be absent in Brittany's life, and the hope that she could make up lost ground...was just a dream. A mad dream.