Chapter 4 - THE SON ETHAN COULD NOT REMEMBER
Ethan had never had another child.
He knew that.
He had married Christine at thirty-one.
Jake was born four years later.
Before Christine, there had been relationships.
None serious.
No pregnancies.
No children.
No son.
Yet when Mason said the words, something inside Ethan reacted before his mind did.
A corridor.
A red ball.
A child crying behind reinforced glass.
Daddy.
The memory vanished.
Ethan gripped the stairwell railing.
“What was his name?”
Mason hesitated.
“Caleb.”
Ethan closed his eyes.
Another flash.
Small hands.
Dark hair.
A toy airplane.
Then pain exploded behind Ethan’s eyes.
He staggered.
Mason caught him.
“Easy.”
Ethan shoved him away.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Those memories may have triggers.”
“You knew.”
“I knew there was a child.”
“You said I believed he was mine.”
“You did.”
“Was he?”
“We never proved it.”
Ethan laughed with disbelief.
“That is not an answer.”
“DNA records disappeared.”
“Where is Caleb?”
Mason looked at the stairwell floor.
Ethan understood.
“He died.”
“We were told he died.”
“Who told you?”
“Frank.”
The stairwell became silent.
Ethan walked toward Mason slowly.
“My wife’s father kidnapped me, experimented on me, possibly used a child to manipulate me, and you let him live twenty-two years.”
“I couldn’t prove any of it.”
“You didn’t try hard enough.”
“I lost seven agents trying.”
“Then you should have lost eight.”
Mason accepted that.
Maybe because he believed it.
Back upstairs, Christine sat beside Jake.
Ethan entered alone.
She read his expression.
“What happened?”
“Who was Caleb?”
Christine stopped breathing.
That was answer enough.
Ethan closed the door.
“Who was he?”
Christine whispered, “I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I swear.”
“You knew his name.”
“I heard it.”
“Where?”
“Basement.”
Ethan looked at sleeping Jake.
“Talk quietly.”
Christine lowered her voice.
“You would wake up screaming his name.”
“How old was he?”
“I never saw him.”
“Mason says he was at Site Twelve.”
“Then Mason knows more than me.”
Ethan moved closer.
“Did your father tell you Caleb was my son?”
“No.”
“Did he tell you Caleb was dead?”
Christine’s eyes flickered.
Ethan caught it.
“What?”
“Dad once said something.”
“Say it.”
“He said children were useful because soldiers always believed children.”
Ethan felt sick.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“You always don’t know.”
“I was a kid too.”
Ethan turned away.
Christine stood.
“Do you think I don’t remember what that house was like? Do you think I don’t hear you screaming when I close my eyes?”
Ethan looked at her.
“Then why did you bring our son there today?”
The question destroyed every defense she had.
Christine sat back down.
“I thought Dad was dying.”
“What?”
“He told me he had pancreatic cancer.”
“Do you have proof?”
“No.”
“So your father, who you knew had tortured me, called you and you brought Jake?”
“He said he wanted to apologize.”
Ethan stared at her in disbelief.
“To Jake?”
“To all of us.”
“And you believed him.”
“I wanted to.”
“That almost killed our son.”
Christine began crying.
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
Jake shifted.
Both fell silent.
His eyes opened.
“Dad?”
Ethan immediately moved to him.
“I’m here.”
Jake looked toward Christine.
Then away.
That tiny movement broke her more completely than Ethan’s anger.
Jake whispered, “Did you catch Grandpa?”
“Not yet.”
“He’s gonna come back.”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
Ethan held his son’s hand.
“Because now he knows I’m coming for him.”
Christine whispered, “Ethan.”
He ignored her.
Jake looked worried.
“Are you gonna hurt him?”
Ethan had killed people before.
That truth existed in a locked part of his life.
He had never told Jake.
He answered carefully.
“I’m going to make sure he can’t hurt you again.”
Jake nodded.
After a moment, he said, “I saw something else.”
“What?”
“When Grandpa opened the metal box.”
Ethan leaned closer.
“There was a picture of a little boy.”
Christine looked up.
Jake continued.
“He looked kinda like me.”
Ethan’s heart stopped.
“What do you mean?”
“Same eyes.”
“Was it you?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“The picture looked really old.”
Ethan looked at Christine.
“Caleb.”
She whispered, “Maybe.”
Jake frowned.
“There was writing on the back.”
“What writing?”
Jake closed his eyes, trying to remember.
“Prototype C.”
Mason, standing in the doorway, went perfectly still.
Ethan noticed him.
“What does that mean?”
Mason didn’t answer.
“Mason.”
The older man stepped inside.
“LANTERN assigned letters to behavioral subjects.”
“Subjects.”
“Yes.”
“And C?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try harder.”
Mason looked at Jake.
Then Christine.
Then Ethan.
“There were rumors the program tested inherited memory response.”
Christine frowned.
“Inherited?”
“Stress response across family lines. Genetic susceptibility. Conditioning passed through parenting.”
Ethan stared.
“You’re saying they experimented on children.”
“I’m saying I don’t know how far it went.”
Jake whispered, “Dad?”
Ethan forced himself to soften.
“What?”
“Grandpa called me something.”
“What?”
Jake looked frightened.
“Prototype J.”
Nobody moved.
Mason slowly reached for his phone.
Ethan said, “What are you doing?”
“Checking something.”
“Checking what?”
Mason typed rapidly.
Then stopped.
His face lost color.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“Jake’s birth records were accessed eight times before he was six months old.”
“By Frank?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
Mason turned the screen toward him.
ACCESS AUTHORIZATION: A. VALE.
May you like
Dr. Adrian Vale.
The supposedly dead architect of LANTERN.
