Mutation

“Certainly,” Sheldon said. “We check the work order or call electronic maintenance. We always check it out.”

“What if it is being driven by one of the Chimera employees?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sheldon said. “We always check.”

“What if it is being driven by one of the management?”

Sheldon hesitated, then spoke. “Well, I suppose that would be different.”

“So if a van is driven out of here by one of the executives, you let it go?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” Sheldon said nervously.

“From now on I want all trucks, vans, and the like looked into no matter who is driving. Even me. Understand?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Sheldon said.

“One other question,” Victor said. “Has anyone seen my son today?”

“I haven’t,” Sheldon said. Then to the man operating the gates he said, “George, did you see VJ today?”

“Only when he arrived with Dr. Frank.”

Sheldon held up a hand for Victor to wait. Turning to a radio set up behind the desk, he put out a call for Hal.

“Hal’s been cruising around this morning,” Sheldon explained. Some crackles heralded Hal’s voice. Sheldon asked if VJ was around.

“I saw him down near the dam earlier this morning,” Hal said through a good deal of static.

Victor thanked the security men and left their office. He felt a minor amount of irritation, remembering how willful VJ

was. Victor could remember telling him to stay away from the river at least four or five times.

Pulling his lab coat more closely around him, Victor started for the river. He thought about going back to the main building to get his regular coat, but didn’t. Although the temperature had dropped from the previous day, it still was not that cold.

Although the day had started clear, it was now cloudy. The prevailing breeze, from the northeast, smelled of the ocean.

High above, several sea gulls circled, squawking shrilly.

Directly ahead stood the clock tower building with its Big Ben replica stopped at 2:15. Victor reminded himself to bring up the issue of renovating the structure as well as the clock at next Wednesday’s board meeting.

The closer he got to the river, the louder the roar from the waterfall over the spillway of the dam became.

“VJ!” Victor shouted as he approached the river’s edge.

But his voice was lost in the crash of the water. He continued past the eastern edge of the clock tower building, crossed over a wooden bridge that spanned the sluice exiting from the basement of the building, and arrived at the granite quay built along the river below the dam. He looked down at the white water as it swirled furiously eastward toward the ocean. Glancing left, he gazed at the expanse of the dam spanning the river and at the broad millpond upstream. Water poured over the center of the dam in an imposing arch of emerald green. The force was enough for Victor to feel through his feet, standing on the granite quay. It was an awesome testimony to the power of nature that had started earlier that year with gentle snowflakes.

Turning around, Victor shouted at the top of his lungs:

“VJ!” But he bit off his shout with the shock that VJ was standing directly behind him. Philip was a little farther away.

“There you are,” Victor said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I guessed as much,” VJ said. “What do you want?”

“I want . . .” Victor paused. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. “What have you been doing?”

“Just having fun.”

“I’m not sure I want you wandering around like this, especially down here by the river,” Victor said sternly. “In fact, I want you home today. I’ll have a driver from the motor pool give you and Philip a lift.”

“But I don’t want to go home,” VJ complained.

“I’ll explain more later,” Victor said firmly. “But I want you home for now. It’s for your own good.”

Marsha opened the door to her office that gave out to the hall and Joyce Hendricks slipped out. She’d told Marsha that she was terrified of running into someone she knew while coming out of a psychiatrist’s office, and for the time being Marsha indulged her. After a time, Marsha was certain that she could convince the woman that seeking psychiatric help was no longer a social stigma.

After updating the Hendricks file, Marsha poked her head into the office waiting room and told Jean that she was going off to lunch. Jean waved in acknowledgment. As usual, she was tied up on the phone.

Marsha was having lunch with Dr. Valerie Maddox, a fellow psychiatrist whom she admired and respected, whose office was in the same building complex as Marsha’s. But more than colleagues, the two women were friends.

“Hungry?” Marsha asked after Valerie herself opened the door.

“Starved.” Valerie was in her late fifties and looked every day of it. She’d smoked for many years and had a ring of deep creases that radiated away from her mouth like the lines a child would draw indicating the rays of the sun.

Together they went down in the elevator and crossed to the hospital, using the crossway. In the hospital shop they managed to get a small table in the corner that allowed them to talk. They both ordered tuna salads.