Rise [Bruno Mars]

Chapter eighteen

Chapter eighteen

“Morning, Dexter.”

Joseph paused in the process of pulling on gloves. He too sported a silver bracelet, and was forced to sleep here in the lab. He would make do with a blanket and the comfort of his cat, which they agreed in letting him have under the impression he worked better with the feline. Other than a bald spot near Fidel's flank, a jagged scar running through it, he was all right. I felt sorry—for us. All three of us. I sat with them dolefully at night, when Unhomboldt descended into blackness. “To conserve energy and money,” Joseph had told me, and after I'd asked him how they were funded, he said they sold their research and findings. The storm cloud over my head only darkened. I still slept poorly. Every night I dreamed of Bruno, of his stillness, then half awake, I would feel him, the sadness in his voice letting me know I'd failed him.

“Dexter?” Joseph asked. “Who is Dexter?”

I smiled. I did that a lot. If I didn't, I would cry. “He owns a laboratory.”

Joseph frowned. “Where?”

I shrugged. “His was amazing. Built it secretly inside his room.”

“Grim had its own lab,” said Joseph. “It was one of the places I had not shown you yet. Surely, you would have been just as amazed. . .” He leaned forward at my soft laughter, perplexed, though a small smile was playing on his lips, which I skimmed my gaze over. “Adrian, what is funny?”

“Dexter is a cartoon, Joseph. Dexter's Laboratory, the show is called.”

Joseph smiled widened, but it was still small. “Cartoon? Television? I've never watched it.”

I raised my eyebrows, unsurprised. “You've been deprived of a lot in life.”

“Have I?” He seemed to think about this. “You're right. Maybe you can explain these shows while I work?”

Joseph was working on bioluminescent bacteria. He'd explained to me what it was, but I hadn't been listening.

“You're not going to pay attention,” I said.

“Afterwards you may quiz me.”

I rolled my eyes. “Like you're going to fail.” Joseph really was brilliant. He toiled swiftly, moving about in calm concentration. He wrote notes full of complicated formulas, his fingers seemingly perspicacious as they moved without pause to jot answers. He seemed at home here, at peace.

“I fail at a lot of things, Adrian,” said Joseph quietly. “A lot of things.”

Two days later the room I appeared in was no laboratory. It was an actual room, with dressers, and a bed, to which Joseph was lying on, cuddled with a dark skinned woman.

Stomach lurching, I yelped a startled noise, hurriedly distancing myself from them. “I—” Shock evaporating into anger, I stopped and spat, “I can see you're enjoying your stay here.”

Joseph eyed the young woman with mild interest. “Do not be angry yet, Adrian. Watch.” He roused her with quiet chants of her name, April, April, April.

Her eyes cracked open. She was very pretty. “Mmm. Good morning, Joseph.”

I wanted to look away. This moment was too intimate, but he said watch. So I watched.