Thomas Watkins put his hand up to shield his eyes from the bright early morning sun. The light reflected off his thick glasses, making it even harder to see, and he muttered a curse towards the sky. He squinted towards the ground and spotted the newspaper he had been trying to retrieve through the bright colored spots now clouding his vision. As he re-entered the house, his vision began to clear, and he glanced at the front page with disinterest.
Watkins set the paper down on the kitchen table and poured himself a glass of orange juice. Slowly, he eased himself into his chair, careful not to overuse his aching muscles and bones. At fifty-five, he was no spring chicken any longer and eager to start an early retirement. Which is just what he would have done had he had the money.
Watkins skimmed over the front page of the newspaper but didn't really read any of the articles or words. Instead his mind wandered back to the past as it often did, remembering better times.
At one point, the old man had been young, with a promising career. Now, no one had much of a use for a former government scientist. Especially not one who was obviously over the hill and who had a record such as his.
Absent mindedly, he decided that none of the articles on the front page were worth his interest, and he flipped to the second. Somewhere on the bottom of that page, he spotted something that caught his interest.
College Student Saves Friends in Dorm Fire, the headline read. Underneath, in slightly smaller letters read the words Girl Braves Fire and is Unharmed.
Watkins was not certain exactly what about the headline captured his interest, but for whatever reason, he began to read the article. As he read, he grew more and more interested.
Could this be her? Was it possible that she had survived? That the doorstep she'd been left on was that of a good family and not one that would disown her? Could it be?
Watkins attempted to calm himself down. "Don't get too excited," he told himself, only slightly aware he was speaking aloud. "It could be over nothing."
But it could be something, he reminded himself. And he had to find out.
"It's official," I declared to myself. "I am turning off the ringer on the phone."
I sat up in bed on Saturday morning and looked at the clock through blurry and sleepy eyes. It was six-fifteen in the morning. I groaned and laid down again, pulling the pillow over my head and trying to drown out the sound. But it was no use. With a sigh I reached across my bed and lifted the receiver from its stand on my night table.
"Hello?" I asked, trying to sound as out of it as possible so the caller would get the message that I was too tired to care about whatever it was they wanted.
"Is this Veronica Carson?" the voice asked. I groaned inwardly. I hated reporters.
"Yes, and I don't do interviews," I replied shortly. I had been awakened on a Saturday morning for a reporter?
"Oh, I'm not looking for an interview," the man interrupted. I was surprised.
"You're not?" I asked.
"No. Well, I do want to talk to you, but I'm not a reporter and what you tell me won't be written down anywhere."
"Then why do you want to talk to me?" I asked. I was thoroughly confused now.
"I think I may have some answers for you."
"What kind of answers?" I asked. "I wasn't aware I had any questions."
"Miss Carson, my name is Thomas Watkins. I'm a scientist, and I think you may just be the person I've been looking for."
"Looking for?" I repeated. Fear rushed through my veins. Pure, cold fear. I tensed slightly. Someone had been looking for me?
"Yes. Searching for you. For the past fifteen years," Mr. Watkins replied. "Can we meet?"
I don't know what it was that made me agree to meet Mr. Watkins. I had never even seen him, but his voice sounded trustworthy. When Kyla and Geri and Erin asked me later why I had agreed to it, I told them it was just because I was too tired and out of it at six in the morning to be counted upon to make rational decisions and I couldn't go back on my word. But for whatever reason it was, I found myself at the local pizza place that Tuesday at three.
I wasn't hungry, but I got myself a iced tea and sat down at one of the booths. There was no one else in the restaurant except me, the employees, and a couple in the back. I sipped my drink and tried to slow my beating heart. It was quiet except for the whispered conversation of the couple and the sounds of the machines, and my heartbeat seemed to echo throughout the dining room.
The door opened, and a man entered. I wondered if it was him. If this was Mr. Watkins. He wasn't very tall -in fact he appeared short. He was hunched over slightly as if his back was not as strong as it should be. He wore thick glasses and carried a newspaper in one hand and a book in the other.
I wondered if I should approach him, but there was no need for me to worry. He must have recognized me or assumed that I was who he was looking for, because he immediately hurried over to my booth and sat down, making himself comfortable across the table from me.
"You're Veronica Carson, right?" he asked. I nodded.
"You must be Mr. Watkins," I replied. He nodded, but waved the formalities aside, obviously excited.
"I have been looking for you for fifteen years," he told me. "I suppose you are very confused about who you are and where you come from. I think that I am the only one left alive who can give you those answers."
"What answers are those?" I asked. "And how is it that you know them?"
He held up a hand, pausing me before I could continue. "I will explain everything," he assured me. He placed the book he had been carrying on the table in front of me and I saw that it was a scrapbook.
"I think I explained to you that I am a scientist," he began. "I worked for the government for a long time, doing research. During the cold war I was hired to study the effects of radiation on humans. Naturally such projects are unethical and so we were forced to remain underground."
"You just hit people with radiation?" I asked.
"Not exactly. We actually studied on human cells and fetuses," he explained. But in '79 I was transferred to Project Super."
"Project Super?"
Mr. Watkins paused for a moment and smiled in a way I could only describe as ironic or sarcastic. "It sounds like something out of a science fiction movie," he explained. "But it's true. What they wanted us to do on that project was create a super human. This project also used a bit of radiation as well as some rudimentary genetic studies. Nothing as advanced as cloning, remember that it was only the late 70s, but we tried. Not necessarily a soldier, but one who could do things normal people couldn't."
"What kinds of things?"
"Like, for example, super human strength, the ability to fly, telekinesis, incredible intelligence, those sorts of things. In early 1981 we decided to focus on mental abilities more than physical abilities. That's where I think you come in."
"Me?"
"Our goal with the project starting in '81 was to give people the power to focus their mental abilities so that things such as super human strength and flying would be unnecessary." I nodded, trying to follow.
"However, it all blew up in our faces." Mr. Watkins threw his arms in the air as though envisioning a large nuclear explosion in his mind.
"How so?"
"We were discovered. Previously our experiments had been kept a secret from the White House. We didn't want them involved. But, there was a security leak, and we were forced to abandon the project."
"And how does this apply to me?" I asked.
"We took the fetuses from women who had decided to abort their children. When we finished studying them, after a month or so, we simply…discarded them. To keep it ethical, we always did it within the first 5 months or so. However," he paused here for a moment.
"One of them wasn't discarded?" I asked. Mr. Watkins shook his head.
"After the White House discovered what we were doing we were preoccupied and one of the fetuses was…forgotten about. By the time we remembered, it was almost to full term."
"And that was me?" I asked.
"That's what I believe."
"Why?" I asked. "What makes you think it's me?"
"I read this article," he explained, handing me a newspaper. "The way you described your mental capabilities to the interviewer? I knew it must be you."
"Then you can explain this to me?" I asked. "What it is, why it happens, how it is that I'm able to do…what I did?" He shook his head.
"If there was a precedent of some sort, at least one other baby that survived, I think I might be able to give you some advice about those things. But you're the only one that I know of."
I nodded, and sipped my iced tea again as I digested the information.
"What I can tell you, however, is your true parents."
I nearly choked on my drink. "What?"
"Your birth parents, that is. If you happen to be interested in finding out anything about them, I can tell you who they are and how to find them." He folded aside a page of the newspaper and removed a manila folder, which he handed to me. "I'll understand if you don't want to know. But I won't be around forever. This is just a fall back in case you change your mind."
I took the folder, unable to speak a I turned it over in my hands. "I, uh, thank you," I told him. He nodded briskly and stood up. I stood up as well and shook hands with him. "You've cleared up a lot for me," I told him.
"All in a day's work," he replied gruffly, tossing the subject aside.
"Where can I find you?" I asked. "I may have some more questions after this sinks in."
He shook his head. "You won't," he replied, and turned to leave. I watched him leave, and for some reason I didn't follow him. Instead, I just let him go.
"Veronica, hi!" Kyla greeted as she opened her door. "What brings you here?"
I shrugged and entered the room. Geri and Erin were on one of the beds, looking over a teen magazine and oozing over the singers and actors.
"Hi Ronnie!" Erin greeted without even looking up from the magazine.
"Hey, what's up," Geri added.
"Hi," I replied, greeting all of them at once.
"Hey Ronnie, where ya been all day?" Erin asked.
"Huh?"
"I was looking for you but I couldn't find you," she clarified.
"Oh, I went down to town and got a few answers about myself."
"Answers?"
"What kind of answers?" Kyla asked.
"Well, answers about where I come from and who my parents are," I replied. I explained to them what had happened in the pizza shop and told them what Mr. Watkins had said. "He also gave me this," I added, holding up the envelope.
"What is it?" Geri asked.
"According to Mr. Watkins it tells me who my real parents are," I replied.
Kyla raised an eyebrow curiously. "Are you sure you want to know?" she asked.
"No," I replied. "That's why I haven't looked yet."
"It's not the same as being adopted," Geri stated from the bed. "I mean your parents were going to kill you."
"Yeah, it's different," Erin replied, nodding in agreement.
"Will you ever look?" Kyla wondered.
I shrugged. "I don't know," I replied. "Maybe at some point in the future. I think for now I'll just digest the information. It hasn't all sunk in yet. When it does, then I'll decide if I want to know about it."
