Page 32 of Savage Beauty

“I get it.” And I do. I’m a soldier who believes death can save lives. As much as we may wish for a black and white world, we fill our universe with shades of gray. “Why are you showing me this?”

“I need to tell you something.” Her gaze lowers. She’s looking at her nails, the keyboard, the black band on her wrist that alternates placement on her wrist and her hair. I don’t know what she’s looking at, but she’s sure as hell not looking at me. That’s her MO. I’m getting used to it and trying my damnedest not to read into it.

“Shoot.”

“I don’t like that word.”

Won’t touch guns. Also doesn’t like any words associated with them? “It’s an expression. Just say it. Tell me whatever you want to say.”

She hasn’t seemed to hold anything back yet. Is she about to cop to something?

“Don’t get angry. Maybe I shouldn’t.” She stops speaking and places her hands beneath her thighs. Her knees bounce up and down. “No, I should.”

She’s got my curiosity spiked. I lean back, giving her more physical space. I’ve noticed when she’s got a lot going on in her head, she does better when she’s got plenty of personal space.

“Okay. I’m going to tell you because I think you need to know. As we work on this, you need to know.”

“Okay.” I soften my voice, doing my best not to scare her into shutting up. Jack Sullivan might’ve been right. She may be one we can’t trust. But something tells me whatever she’s struggling with is going to give us a shit ton of insight.

“In the compound, I know what they were having me test those people for.”

“Okay.” Yeah, I sound like a broken record, but her knees are bouncing like she’s popped too many Adderall. In this moment, head bowed, shoulders caved in, she’s flighty. Nervous. If I move too quickly, I fear she might fly away. And if she vanishes, the opportunity to figure this out and find the people responsible for Felix’s death vanishes too.

She lets out a deep breath. “What they were doing had nothing to do with Origins. I mean, maybe they found me because of what I was working on. Or maybe they knew my personal history. But what was going on in that compound…”

“You can tell me. I’m on your side. Team Sloane all the way.”

“You might not be once I tell you. What I did was wrong.”

CHAPTER10

Sloane

If he leaves, it’s fine. I work better on my own.

“She excels in solitary sports, without a team. I love the idea of a dependable after-school program, and I agree with your ethos that they need physical activity after school, but I know my daughter. Sticking her in a gym with other kids will not make her happy. If you have a swimming program, horseback riding, fencing, anything that’s more of a solo sport. I’ll pay extra, but that’s what my daughter needs.”

Mom planned our activities on the car speakerphone. Her cell phone didn’t work well within the hospital. Inside the hospital, even if she could hear the person speaking, most often they couldn’t hear her. She had that conversation on my first week of an after-school program. What an awful, horrific program…after school. I forgave my parents for sticking me in it, only because Sam explained they didn’t have a choice. They didn’t know if they would be available to pick us up from school because of Sage, and Mom didn’t want us to be home alone for too many hours. Not that they ever asked, but I would’ve preferred to be home alone.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’m on your team. No one else’s.”

I blink, returning from a momentary memory flash. Why am I remembering Mom? Team. It’s a trigger word.

“I don’t really work well on teams.”But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell him. He’s convinced Origins is involved, but if he knew everything, he wouldn’t be.

“Well, that’s okay. I excel at teams. High school football MVP. Military. As I’m sure you know from Sam, we’re all about teams. I’ve got enough team skills for both of us. But it all starts with being upfront with each other.”

And if you tell him, and he leaves, that’s fine. You excel at solitary endeavors.

I ball my hands up, push my shoulders back, and say, “In the compound, I was checking for blood type, like I said. But I was also doing HLA testing.” I pause. He’s silent. “Do you know what HLA testing is?”

“No.”

His answer does not surprise me. “HLA stands for human leukocyte antigen.” I don’t glance up to see if there’s a flicker of recognition because there won’t be. “Antigens are proteins on the cells in the body. Out of over a hundred different antigens that have been identified, there are six that have been shown to be the most important in organ transplantation. Except in cases of identical twins and some siblings, it is rare to get a six-antigen match between two people, especially if they are unrelated. A person can make antibodies against another person’s HLA antigens. Antibodies can result from blood transfusions, pregnancy, infections or even a viral illness. Having one of these events does not mean a person will make antibodies, but they could. If a recipient has strong antibodies against a donor’s HLA, the risk of rejection is high, and they would decline a donor for that recipient. Of course, kidneys are very successfully transplanted between two people with no matching antigens. But that doesn’t hold for…” He is so silent, I risk a glance up. He’s not getting it. “I was testing the people in the compound and recording if they would be suitable organ donors. I also tested for HIV, diabetes, and a few other things, although they didn’t have the tools to test for everything they should have been testing for.”

My knees bounce high of their own volition. It’s as if I’ve lost bodily control. One sturdy, weathered hand with veins that split into a v settles over my knee. Tension eases and I close my eyes. Just say it. He’ll either leave or he won’t. “The people in the compound? Working on the computers? I created medical records for each of them detailing their compatibility for organ recipients.”

“You believed they had your sister. You had no choice.” Is he trying to make me feel better? What I did was wrong. Those people didn’t have a choice. And while I don’t want to think about it, my bet is they take more than kidneys. If they select one of those people based on the records I created, there’s a good chance they won’t survive. You can’t donate your heart and survive. If that was an ethically viable option, I would’ve given mine to Sage long ago.

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