To this day, I have no idea how my youngest sister, Elise, became known to Dr. Hideo Nakamura. The Syngenetics Corporation claims it never heard of her, and neither the company’s spokesman nor Dr. Nakamura’s publicist will return calls from our parents’ attorney.
Through our inquiries, we learned that Dr. Nakamura is reclusive, conducting his research remotely and seldom venturing from his gated compound in the Oakland Hills. My sister lived in a Berkeley studio a few miles away, but I can’t see them running into each other at one of the bakeries or yoga studios that line her street off College Avenue, in a shabby-chic neighborhood called Rockridge.
I lived in Berkeley myself, just on the other side of campus. After a stint in business, I had decided to follow in the path of my father, a semi-famous federal judge, and was pursuing my J.D. at the law school. Despite my physical proximity, I seldom saw Elise. In our large family, she and I were never close. Growing up, I got along best with my sister Caroline—the second-oldest after me—and my brother Andrew, the only other male. My sister Michaela was bubbly and carefree. But Elise was a quiet, pale girl with cinnamon-brown hair. Even back then, she seemed separate from us, odd and standoffish.
On that awful Christmas Day, when we all compared notes over a meal that seemed garish and disgusting, like a murder scene, we learned that none of us had been in frequent contact with Elise. We’d each assumed that someone else was checking in on her. In fact, she’d been estranged from the entire family. My sisters were busy young mothers. Andrew was down at Stanford, getting his degree. Our father, rumored to be in line for an appointment to the circuit court, kept long hours. Our mother’s days were filled with grandbabies and church committees.
My parents paid rent on the studio and covered Elise’s expenses. But ever since she’d dropped out of college, and—more painfully, for them—broken with the Church, they didn’t call her much, and she seldom called home. I think they hoped she was just going through a phase, drifting aimlessly through her twenties like so many other girls. How could they know how deeply unhappy she was? None of us knew. I certainly didn’t.
“But, Karl,” Michaela pressed, my siblings and their spouses peering at me down the grotesque table, “you must have seen her most of all. Weren’t Elise and Wendy friends? You must know something about what happened.”
“I’ve been focused on my studies,” I said tersely. “She always seemed all right to me. You know how she was. Secretive. I assumed she was dating some guy and didn’t want to talk about it.”
“What about Wendy? Did Elise ever say anything to her?”
“I’ve no idea what they talked about.”
____
I lied.
My fiancée had done nothing wrong, yet some protective instinct made me deflect my sister’s questions. Unlike Elise, Wendy was modest and devout. She had no great career ambitions and looked forward to being a wife and mother.
It’s true she had tried to befriend Elise. Wendy was curious about people, having led a sheltered life. While the rest of my family was reassuringly conventional, the existence of one wayward sister—a lost sheep, if you will—intrigued her.
“You should see Elise’s dog,” she remarked one night over dinner. “Poor thing. I didn’t realize it was seventeen years old. No wonder it’s always at the vet.”
“She’s barely had it a year. She knew what she was getting into. I guess she talked the landlord into it, somehow.”
“Well, it’s incontinent now. Cancer. It must be costing your parents a fortune to keep it alive.”
“Typical Elise. This chicken is excellent, by the way.”
“I feel sorry for her. Stuck in that sad little apartment with a dying dog. You should have her over for dinner. I’ll cook.”
“Believe me, I’ve tried. She has no interest in coming here. Half the time, she doesn’t respond to my texts. And, knowing her, she’d want to bring the bloody dog.”
When I first moved to Berkeley, I had reached out to Elise. We met for lunch at a ratty little café with brightly-painted walls and reggae thumping from the speakers. I hadn’t seen her in a while. She looked thinner, almost bony, in a sleeveless top and jeans. A tiny, ruby-like gem decorated the side of her nose, a new addition I found vaguely irritating.
“Very original,” I said, returning my cup to its saucer, which didn’t seem quite clean.
“What, the nose? I had it done on a whim. I kind of like it.”
“So, are you ethnic now? Because, you know, we’re actually German-Irish.”
“You don’t say, Karl.”
“We enjoy sausages and beer, that sort of thing. What is this, some kind of lentil patty? Matches your nose. You’re not becoming Hindu, are you?”
“I wasn’t planning on it. But you never know.”
“God forbid. Seriously, you look good. What are you doing with yourself these days?”
The long and short of it was: not much. Picking up gigs in graphic art and working retail shifts at a friend’s boutique. Toying with going back to school for massage therapy. Elise appeared to have no timeline for her life, no larger plan. She simply existed day-to-day, unmoored and diffident, alone.
“I’m thinking of getting a dog.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? Who would take care of it when you’re out?”
“I’m mostly home.”
“Dogs need a lot of exercise, you know.”
“Not all dogs. There are older ones, rescues, who are hard to place. Their owners have died, or their families can’t keep them anymore. Often, they’re sick and need expensive care their owners can’t afford.”
“That’s a nice idea. But you can barely support yourself.”
“Oh, for God’s sake—”
“Wait. Don’t get up.”
“Why do I even try?”
“Elise, calm down. I’m only saying—”
“Thanks for lunch!”
After that awkward meal, my sister and I rarely saw each other. But she did manage to meet Wendy over coffee, and they began what appeared to me a rather one-sided friendship. Wendy had followed me to school (we planned to marry after graduation) and taken an administrative job on campus. Other than that, she had little to pass the time. Elise provided her a project, something between a social outlet and a charitable work. I would have preferred my fiancée to get to know other family members—like Caroline, happily married and living in Santa Barbara near my parents. But it all seemed harmless enough.
And, indirectly, it was a window into my fallen sister’s life.
_____
Because—I’m sorry to say it—Elise was loose. Of course she was. Wendy and I had met through mutual friends, but for girls like Elise, who’d either rejected religion or never had it, it was normal to advertise oneself on dating apps and “hook up” with strange men. This was considered an exciting phase of life, not to be missed. And attractive young women like my sister had their choice of offers.
“She’s going into the city this weekend,” Wendy reported one fall evening. “There’s some big party in San Francisco, a private one at someone’s house.”
“Must be a big house.”
“That’s what I said. She wouldn’t tell me the owner’s name, just that he’s made a fortune in tech. She doesn’t know him personally, but she’s friends with a guy who works for him.”
“I’ll bet. Where does she meet these people? Don’t answer that.”
“Rhymes with ‘cinder.’”
“Ugh.”
For several months, it went like this. I’d receive occasional updates on Elise, learning she’d changed jobs or taken up with some new “tech bro” in the city. To spare our parents, I didn’t pass most of this on, merely conveyed that Wendy kept up with Elise, and she was fine.
And then, late one night, she called, crying. I could barely make out her words. She was almost hysterical, begging me for some kind of help.
Her dog had died.
“I’m sorry, Elise. Call the vet. They’ll know what to do. You can’t just bury him on someone else’s property. I’d like to help, but I’ve got class at eight a.m., and I have no experience with this sort of thing.”
After that call, we didn’t hear from her for weeks. Wendy’s texts went unanswered, as did mine. Wendy stopped by once, but no one answered her knock. The studio cottage, set back in an overgrown yard behind a weathered brown-shingle home, appeared abandoned. We thought she might be staying with friends in the city.
One spring afternoon, I was walking down College Avenue to clear my mind after hours of studying for finals. Past blocks of pizza places and bong shops close to campus, the street continued through Rockridge, where stores catered to the neighborhood’s affluent families. I passed toy stores, stroller retailers, maternity clothing boutiques, ice cream parlors, and bookstores with picture books displayed in the window. Women nudged toddlers down the sidewalk or pushed them along in giant strollers. The blank-faced college girls roaming in packs seemed unsure of themselves here, out of their element.
Suddenly, to my surprise, I saw Elise. She was on the other side of the street, far up ahead, her back turned to me. I called out her name, but she didn’t seem to hear it. A few seconds later, she turned into a side street, out of view.
I only saw her a few moments, and afterward, I wondered if I was mistaken. The woman looked like my sister, but she was pushing a baby carriage.
_____
My life with Wendy was a happy one. I miss it. Though we kept separate apartments, she was always over at my place, and, in some ways, it was as if we were already married. She had a way of curling up next to me on the couch, her feet tucked, that made the evenings feel intimate and cozy. On weekends, we went hiking or drove to the beach. She enjoyed trying out new recipes, and I was grateful for the little novelties she brought into my life.
That’s over now. On the morning after that awful Christmas dinner, which she did not attend, she was admitted to the hospital. The doctors said she was in shock. Three weeks later, she broke off our engagement. Last I heard, she had moved back in with her parents in Indiana.
I wish Wendy had never met Elise, that it had all been different.
But events were moving forward, invisible dominoes falling one by one, a chain reaction gaining sinister momentum. I couldn’t have stopped it—I tell myself I couldn’t have stopped it—if I tried.
“Research assistant? That’s absurd. She has no scientific training.”
“That’s what she said. It’s all very hush-hush, apparently.”
By early summer, Wendy and my sister were once again in contact, and I was privy to confusing new developments. Elise now claimed to be on staff at one of the Bay Area’s most cutting-edge biotech firms, run by a scientist whose innovations had made him a billionaire. Why would someone on Dr. Nakamura’s team hire a college dropout who could barely hold down a job as a barista?
“She said she’s been entrusted with company property. They hired her to keep some property off-site, out of the lab. It doesn’t make sense to me, either,” Wendy said. “What are you doing?”
“This is ridiculous. I’m calling her right now.”
“Karl, I don’t think—”
“I don’t care if she wants to speak to me or not. This whole thing sounds like a scam. Someone’s getting her to hold drugs, or God knows what. My sister is very naïve. Hello—Elise? Thanks for picking up.”
To my surprise, Elise sounded friendly and calm. She said everything was fine, but it was too complicated to explain over the phone. I suggested the three of us meet somewhere for dinner.
“No, I can’t do that.”
“Elise, we’re family. I only want to help. This time, I really must insist—”
“I’m willing to meet with you, Karl. I just . . . It’s hard for me to leave the house. Can you come here?”
An hour later, I knocked on her front door. At my side, Wendy wrung her hands and waited. After a few minutes, Elise appeared and ushered us inside. Dressed in pink, she looked healthier than before, with color in her face.
The studio apartment was cluttered and rather dim. Persian rugs covered the floor, and pillows brightened the secondhand couch and chairs. Framed posters of bands and strings of paper stars hung on the walls. A row of scraggly plants filled the kitchen window. A closet’s worth of clothes hung on a freestanding metal rack, with several pairs of dusty shoes nearby.
The place looked the same as the last time I’d been there. But, as I lowered myself to the sagging couch, I was astonished to see a baby carriage parked in the corner. As soon as Elise sat down across from me, I demanded to know what was going on.
“Shhh. Lower your voice,” she said quietly. “I’ll tell you everything. Just please, keep it down.”
The ensuing conversation went on well into the night. Parts of it I found impossible to believe, as I had yet to see the evidence with my own eyes. Elise said she now worked for Dr. Nakamura, playing a critical role in an endeavor that could save thousands of lives. The Syngenetics Corporation was developing a prototype for an animal donor that could supply tissue and organs on demand. Through trial and error, researchers had discovered that one primate’s genes were highly compatible with humans for purposes of hybridization: a small, intelligent prosimian from a remote island, a lemur.
They’d managed to splice the genes and incubate the prototype to viability. But, within weeks, the experiment went south. The hybrid creature began to sicken and die. It keened and howled, inconsolable, and refused to eat. Dr. Nakamura himself came to the lab to study its behavior over several days. He concluded that it was suffering from lack of natural care, unable to bond with white-coated technicians who changed every shift.
“It needed a mother—a human mother,” Elise explained. “It was half-human, after all. Not so different from a real baby.”
Almost speechless, I shook my head. “Elise, you must realize this is gravely wrong. It’s almost certainly illegal. It’s—”
“But the whole point is to help people. Children who might otherwise die without a transplant. I know it’s new, but try to keep an open mind.”
“It’s not about an open mind! The Church forbids this sort of thing. You must know that. It’s strictly off limits.”
“What do I care what the Church thinks? I’m sorry, Karl, but I can make up my own mind. And anyway, I’m not responsible for breeding the poor thing. It was already here when I came on the scene, alive and suffering. Isn’t the Church about caring for the suffering, supposedly?”
As I tried to compose my thoughts, Wendy piped up: “And how’s it going? Taking care of it?”
“Very well,” Elise said, brightening.
“Do you visit the lab, or . . .?”
“Oh, no. I thought you understood. It’s here.” She gestured toward her rumpled bed in the corner. Following her gaze, I saw a wooden bassinette wedged between the bed and the wall.
Elise rose from her chair and beckoned us to follow. With a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, I crossed the room, Wendy behind me. As the three of us loomed over the bassinette, Elise drew back a blanket to reveal what, at first, appeared to be a miniature baby, a preemie. But all the details were off. Its pointy ears were too high on its head, and gray fur covered its body down to the fingertips. It had a long nose, and the flesh encircling its eyes was black. Encased in a blue fleece sleeper, most of its body was hidden from view. But its general shape and features were recognizably human.
“My God. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You won’t tell anyone, will you? Please, Karl. It’s so sweet and no trouble. They’ve given me special formula to feed it, and it’s doing so much better. It’s only for a short time. Then I’ll give it back. They’re paying me a fortune.”
“Elise, you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into. Who are these people? Why did they choose you? You’re just a—no offense—”
“I’m good at this. I really am. They gave me a test, and I passed with flying colors. I’m doing something important, for once. Please don’t tell anyone, Karl. I could get in big trouble.”
“Look!” Wendy said. “It’s opening its eyes.”
_____
One week later, I began my 2L summer job at a major international law firm based in San Francisco. Dozens of students had interviewed for every slot, and I’d been sure to mention, casually, that my father was Judge Huber. It must have worked, because they called me with an offer the next day. If I did well over the summer, they’d take me on as an associate after I passed the bar, setting me up for a lucrative and prestigious career. After making partner at such a well-respected firm, I might even follow my father to the bench.
All this was swirling in my mind during the business with Elise. Though well-intentioned, she was implicated in some shady dealings: a medical experiment that raised serious ethical and legal questions, funded by an eccentric billionaire. Would bringing all of this to light be in our family’s best interests? The resulting scandal could derail my father’s ascent to the circuit court, not to mention tarnish my own career before it even started.
There were also Elise’s wishes to consider. She begged me not to tell a soul about the wretched creature, not even our parents.
“I wash my hands of it,” I said to Wendy over breakfast, dressed in a stiff new shirt on my first day of work. “It’s her life, after all. I’ve got my own to worry about. Just keep an eye on her, will you?”
Wendy was pleased to be part of the secret. Over that summer, she and Elise spent considerable time together while I worked long hours in the city.
“We took the baby to the park today,” she’d say.
“Don’t call it that.”
“Oh, well. That’s how Elise refers to it. Sometimes she calls it Koji, same as at the lab. They say Dr. Nakamura named it himself.”
“It’s a mistake to get attached to it. That thing is odious. Those eyes—my God. The sooner it goes back, the better.” I tried not to think about the creature’s eyes. Bright orange orbs ringed in black, pupils like pinpoints in the center.
“It’s quite a bit bigger now,” Wendy reported in mid-July. “They engineered it for accelerated growth. It’s bonded closely to Elise, and they believe that’s why it’s maturing so quickly. She’s very good with it, I have to say.”
The few times I saw my sister over the summer, she seemed well. With the “baby” hidden in a carriage under blankets, she could lunch on a café patio or stroll the waterfront, indistinguishable from all the real mothers. In private settings, she would take the creature out, showing us how docile it was as she affectionately scratched behind its ears.
In late August, I was offered a permanent job at the firm after graduation. Wendy and I celebrated at a four-star restaurant in the city, and I began my third and final year of law school full of optimism for the future.
For several weeks, neither of us heard from Elise. Finally, she responded to a text from Wendy, saying she wasn’t feeling well. That same night, an October storm blew in, lashing the windows of my bachelor apartment with rain while the wind shrieked from one side of the building, then another, like a woman running in circles, under attack from invisible forces.
Unable to sleep, I took out my laptop and did some research. In Greek mythology, a chimera was a fire-breathing monster with a lion’s head, a goat’s body, and a snake’s tail. The modern term referred to hybrid organisms containing cells from two different species. The Church opposed genetic research on human-animal chimeras, whose very existence compromised the unique dignity of human life and raised thorny, unanswerable questions. Such beings stood outside ancient moral structures of the Church, doomed from the moment of conception to be freaks and orphans, horribly alone in the world.
Feeling uneasy, I texted Elise in the morning. She said she had a cold and wasn’t up to visitors. Nonetheless, that day—a Sunday—after Mass, I placed a takeout order for Thai soup and showed up with it at her door.
There was no answer from inside. I waited a bit more and knocked again.
“Elise? It’s me.”
Finally, the door opened a crack, revealing a thin slice of her face. She did look ill, and she seemed nervous for some reason.
“I came to check on you. Here, I thought soup might help your cold. Are you all right?” Before she could answer, I caught a whiff of a strong smell coming from inside the studio. It was bitter and acrid, and I involuntarily took a step back. “Ew—what’s that?”
“I know it’s bad. I haven’t taken the trash out in a few days.”
“That doesn’t smell like trash. More like poison.”
“Koji’s been going through a phase, marking his territory. It’s hard to keep in him a diaper. He’s gotten so fast, and he climbs up and around . . .”
“That sounds unpleasant. Have you told the lab?”
“They say he’s developing normally, whatever that is.”
“It really stinks, Elise. How can you stay in there?”
“You’re right. I’ll open the windows. Thanks for the soup!”
Before I could reply, she’d shut the door again. Two more weeks passed with no contact.
“Koji’s become a real handful,” Wendy remarked in November. “I talked your sister into leaving him home, for once, to meet for a quick lunch at the crepe place. She looked exhausted. She had on a baggy sweater that practically swallowed her up. While she was eating, one of her sleeves slid down, and I saw her arm . . .”
“What about her arm?”
“There were red marks on it. Bite marks. She said they didn’t hurt, but they looked painful.”
“This is getting out of control. Can’t the lab take the damn thing back?”
“They already tried that, she said. Two men came to her apartment to pick it up. They took it back to San Jose for tests, but it went crazy in the cage. Screeching all day, flinging its body at the bars. It tried to attack the woman who brought it food. On the third day, it started pulling out its fur, and they got worried that it would destroy itself if it stayed there. Elise said once she took it back, it calmed right down.”
“It doesn’t sound like it’s calmed down. They’re asking far too much of her. This needs to end.”
It’s only for a few more months, Elise texted later that day, in response to my blunt message. They’re taking Koji back at the end of the year, no matter what. By then, he will be grown. Don’t worry.
_____
In late November, my parents went on a two-week cruise, bumping the next big family gathering to Christmas. For Thanksgiving, Wendy and I drove down to Palo Alto to visit my younger brother Andrew, on break from college. We invited Elise to join us for the weekend, but, for obvious reasons, she declined.
I next saw her about a week before Christmas. Wendy had achieved her daunting goal of buying and wrapping gifts for everyone in both of our large families, and I was dropping off our present for Elise: a tea kettle, I think.
We sat in rusted metal chairs behind the studio, in a spot that couldn’t be seen from the main house. Koji stood at her knee, one arm draped casually—or perhaps, possessively—over her leg. The creature was toddler-sized now and walked upright, though from time to time it dropped to all fours and scrabbled around the yard, as if foraging for food. Dressed in children’s clothes, it could be mistaken for a small boy at a distance, though a protrusion in the back of its pants suggested a tail. While we chatted, its mouth opened and closed, as if mimicking speech, but no sound came out.
“You’re coming home for Christmas, aren’t you?” I pressed.
“I think so. It depends.”
“No, that’s not good enough, Elise. They have to take this thing off your hands. Tell them to come get it by Christmas, and that’s that.”
“But, what if Koji’s not—”
“It doesn’t matter at this point. Promise me it will be gone by Christmas. Do it for Mom and Dad. They really miss you.”
“. . . All right.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
All the while, the creature’s ears were pricked, attentive. All of a sudden, it leapt onto my sister’s back and swiftly climbed up to crouch between her shoulder blades. As she hunched over to better bear the weight, the hybrid peered down at me with its orange eyes.
“Hey!”
“It’s okay, Karl. He’s only scared.” Elise’s eyes suddenly struck me as glassy, drugged, as some strange energy or rapport passed between her and the creature.
I shook my head in helpless disgust and rose to leave. “See you at Christmas.”
____
My mother was a capable and organized cook. Every year, she prepared Christmas dinner over several days—an elaborate process involving baking molds and gadgets, set to traditional carols sung by the Vienna Boys’ Choir—so, when the day arrived, there was little to do but bake the ham.
You have to understand that, when we sat down to that ghoulish dinner, it was merely the automatic thing to do. My siblings were all home, milling around the big house in a daze, and at some point we realized we had to eat. Someone—Caroline, I think—set the table, and Michaela and my mother carried out the serving dishes, somber as pallbearers. All of us took our seats, and my father intoned the prayer.
My mother’s food, though perfectly prepared, was tasteless in my mouth. Eventually, the questions started, and I heard my own voice deflecting them, as if from a great distance. What I had seen had stunned me to the core, and I could not speak of it yet. Nor could I bear to discuss Wendy, who had refused to see my family and was still in Berkeley, being looked after by a girlfriend.
Two days later, in a private meeting with my father in his study, I was able to unburden myself of the entire story. The great man, a distinguished jurist, seemed to physically shrink before my eyes. When I left him, he appeared haunted by the foreknowledge of some dread judgment, more terrible and just than anything devised by human law. Since then, he has withdrawn his name from consideration for the circuit court and is winding down his career, suddenly craving a quiet life.
_____
On Christmas Eve, my mother called and asked if I had seen Elise. I said I’d seen her a week ago, and she had promised to go home for Christmas. Wendy and I were watching a movie in my apartment, replete with twinkling fake tree, and planned to leave for Santa Barbara early the next morning.
My mother said Elise wasn’t there, nor was she answering her phone. She asked if I could stop by my sister’s place, check on her, and see if she still planned on coming home.
Reluctantly, I agreed. Elise was being irresponsible, as usual, and it fell to me to track her down. Wendy offered to come along. We threw on our coats and, grumbling, I warmed up the car.
In darkness, we tramped down the path to my sister’s studio cottage. Her car was still parked out front, but when I rapped on the door with irritated force, there was no answer.
“Elise? It’s me!” I yelled. Still, no sound came from inside.
After several minutes, I began to worry. No, it was more than that: I think some part of me already knew. A sense of unreality set in, as if I’d entered the inexorable logic of a nightmare. Objects were taking on an otherworldly sheen, and the seconds seemed slow, spaced out. The big, wood-shingled house hulked over us in the ominous silence.
“Karl? What are—”
“I’m calling the police.”
Within fifteen or twenty minutes, they were breaking down the door. Two burly officers crashed into the studio, and I followed them in before I could be stopped.
The first thing I noticed was fire everywhere, dozens of small flames. To my amazement, they burned on top of cheap religious candles, the kind you pick up for a dollar at the grocery store. My sister had placed them all over the room, and they crowded the coffee table, the nightstand, every available shelf. A crucifix hung on the wall, illuminated by the candles’ glow, and hundreds of prayer cards, bearing stylized images of angels and saints, had been tacked haphazardly to the walls, as if in a great hurry.
An officer was barking something into a hand-held radio. As my eyes swept the room, I saw that the kitchen window was broken. A jagged hole gaped in its center. The potted plants that had sat on the windowsill had been knocked into the sink, their contents spilling out.
Unwillingly, my gaze traveled down, to the center of the floor, beyond the boots of the officers standing guard. Elise was lying there in clothes covered in blood, her limbs in disarray. Her skin was scratched and torn, as if something had mauled her in a fury. Her outstretched right hand clutched a rosary whose glass beads trailed from her palm and pooled onto the floor like water. Her eyes were open, and her expression was one of mild surprise. Despite everything, she looked oddly serene.
I had the sudden impression that an escape had taken place, a very close shave in which some predator had been outmaneuvered. And for a moment, I could sense my sister, weightless as a cloud, drifting up through the room and then over the roof, into the stars, as in the distance, church bells for a late evening service began to ring.
I want more!