Chapter 22

Blaine blinked awake, squinting at the shaft of light that split the darkness. The truck’s door rattled loudly as it was unlatched. He lay perfectly still, hoping not to be noticed.

Sometime during the night he’d had a vague awareness of being driven somewhere. He had no idea where he was or what he should do next. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if it was worth hiding at all. Melissa Hartfield would track him down eventually, and then what? He couldn’t exactly go to the authorities—he was illegal.

Mostly, he was so hungry his stomach seemed to be eating itself.

Two men began loading goods into the truck. Blaine crept closer to the front and wedged himself between a great pile of canvas and a stack of metal pipes.

‘First we’ll deliver those tents to St. Lucia for that careers event at the Uni of Queensland next week, then we’ll do our drop-offs on the way to Mowbray Park.’

‘It’s the medium marquee we’re setting up, right?

‘Yeah. Wedding’s at ten in the morning. Decorators and caterers are keen to get in ASAP.’

Soon they’d finished loading. The door closed with a resounding bang.

Mowbray Park? So I’m heading back to nearly where I started—eventually ...

Blaine sat up straight. Sophie! What time is it?

As the men walked around to the front of the vehicle, he heard them talking about the South Bank attack the previous evening. ‘All over the news,’ one of them said. As Blaine listened, he was disturbed to realise the police were looking for him.

Do they really think I attacked Sienna? Wouldn’t it have been obvious I was trying to help?

He realised too, that if it was ‘all over the news’, his mum along with Sophie and her family would have no doubt seen the incident.

What on earth must they think?

The truck took off at a good pace and Blaine was jostled into the canvas. His head still hurt, but all things considered, he felt pretty good after a decent night’s sleep. Then again, he hadn’t actually had to exert himself either.

As he lay in the darkness, his mind explored the flashbacks he’d had last night. Dreams weren’t quite the word. These kind of memories were usually associated with his seizures, though he was pretty sure he’d not convulsed.

For some reason he couldn’t get past the signing of the forms attached to his gene therapy. His parents’ dilemma—their belief that he wouldn’t understand the process—pooled deep in his mind. Little had they known just how aware he was. Their concerns had seemed centred on their inability to justify his potential suffering, or even death, if the therapy went wrong, but he began to wonder if there was more to those eavesdropped conversations than he had previously thought.

Had they intentionally signed away his right to live beyond the shadow of ARI? If what Melissa Hartfield said was true, they had essentially sold him for nothing with no guarantee of any returns. Was he just an inconvenience; better living out his days as an object of study?

Do they regret adopting me, after all?

Deep within, he knew Dr Hartfield wasn’t lying about the timing of his diagnosis. And this revelation had plagued him ever since.

He’d never doubted his parents’ love for him until the last week. They’d always reminded him time and again of how priceless he was to them. They claimed they’d been handpicked by divine intervention to rescue him and offer him a safe and loving home environment in which to live. Or so they had said ...

But I was never supposed to live beyond ten years of age ...

Could their constant insistence that he was God’s chosen son for them be merely a cover to hide the shock of his diagnosis and the great inconvenience of his continued existence? Had he outlived his usefulness?

Perhaps his parents were weary of his care. It seemed they were willing to try anything that promised therapeutic benefits. In fact, Professor Ramer’s trials weren’t his first brush with gene therapy.

The truck took a sharp corner and Blaine rolled hard against the tough tarpaulin body cover. He shifted to make himself more comfortable, taking care to avoid the metal supports of the framework. Without seeing the road, he was beginning to feel queasy. Adding to this, uncertainty sat like a block of ice in his stomach. He felt cold from the inside out.

Surely my parents did not elect for me to be subjected to the trials because they’d had enough of caring for me? Would they protect me from Dr Hartfield if she told them of my illegal status?

The seed of doubt began to grow roots that wound through his heart, creating fissures in all the certainties of his life.

Blaine tried to remain patient as the men went about their drop-offs. Some locations seemed to take forever, which he figured meant they also had to set-up what they were delivering. Other stops just involved a quick offload.

Each time they retrieved gear, Blaine held his breath as he hid. One man had even stood right next to the canvas he was lying under. Sweat had popped out on his brow as he’d tried to keep perfectly still.

Not wanting to get caught out, Blaine resisted the temptation to leave the truck when they stopped. This ride was going where he needed. Even if he arrived later than he’d planned, his few remaining silver coins weren’t going to take him there any faster.

Knowing he’d have to walk the distance from the park to South Bank, Blaine decided to take the second half of Ramer’s Cure. It was much easier to see while the rear door was open, letting in light. He hoped the medication would be enough to stabilise him for the rest of the day.

Blaine frowned at the bag as he swallowed and noticed a tiny shard wedged in the corner. That’s right, the third piece. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.

He put the small bag back into his pocket and zipped it closed. Soon he’d have all the Cure he needed. Blaine just hoped Sophie would wait.

Finally the men started talking wedding marquees.

‘Let’s get moving. Call Nick and Rob. If they’re finished at the other sites, they can come over and give us a hand.’

‘Sure. Might even have time for a decent lunch.’

They laughed, but Blaine silently groaned. Lunch? He didn’t have time for lunch! As soon as that door opens, I’m outta here!