Watari Pt 2: Wammy's House

"We created monsters, Quillish." Roger raised his cup of tea from its saucer in the direction of Wammy's picture. "I suspected it, but until this day, it was never quite so apparent. B could have been an isolated aberration, but to see three more of them turn to murder in order to achieve their objectives, that is different. These are the objectives that we set for them. There is blood on our hands.

"The experiment is failing. I told you it would; and I told you it was. It's come to fruition now. The house of cards, as it were, is falling down." Roger sighed. "If only our older selves could be in that cafe in Paris, when you outlined your plans to me. Could we have talked some sense into us, any more than I could talk sense into the youngsters now? I rather think I might. We were never that impetuous." Roger smiled. "Well, one of us wasn't. Those children, they only see old, foolish men. They do not know what we were. They know, only too well, about your home for geniuses, but what of the other plans? You always had plans, Quillish, always tinkering to improve upon them. I wonder if it would surprise them to know that I see a bit of you in young Matt. You, I think, are what he may have become if it wasn't for his association with Mello. But, perhaps, that too is my fancy. I shouldn't push him so much to be you. We do that too much.

"I should not blame Mello for holding him back, just because I didn't have the fire and courage to do the same with you. The disintegration of Mihael Keehl's personality was quite our doing and definitely the moment when my fears were confirmed. We groomed that shy, sweet boy into maybe the biggest monster of all. I feel guilt when I look at him. I pick back over the stages and the decisions and I see my mistakes. The experimentation of Dr Frankenstein had nothing on us; but you saw that astonishing intelligence over the human child and pushed his psyche too far." Roger sniffed. "I let you." He paused. "I let you and I know that my guilt and irritation stems also in great part that I am no Mello. I could never have thwarted you like Mello does Matt. For as alike as one seems to you, our great tragedy and their's, is that the other could never match him.

Roger gave a half-laugh, which held no mirth. "We've had this conversation before, Quillish, though never quite like this. I have their files out in front of me and I'm forcing myself to read their names, and to remember their faces." He fell silent for a moment, before speaking aloud again. "There are casualties and bloodshed on this table. I am put in mind of standing beside you at that cenotaph, waiting our turn to place our poppies. The newly painted names all real to us. I watch the children now walk by without so much as a glance, but I recall them. The heroic fallen, cold in their graves after fighting to save our nation from the peril of invasion. The moralistic battle to snuff out the evils of the Holocaust. I recall them and they aren't just names to me. That your distress then should lead now to this. My staring at another list of names and comparing them to the first; seeing the destruction we wrought in the name of salvation.

"So many great minds lost to the concentration camps. Your brother lost in the trenches. My father too. You and I thankfully too young to join them there, but it touched us too. You, so serious, meeting me for cream teas at Sadie's. You trawling through the orphanages, incandescent with what you saw as wasted potential. That was the spark of this House, your anger then. I recall it so vividly, the look in your eyes when you told me that something had to be done. Bright, intelligent children with none of the opportunities that we had had, crammed into dormentaries full of 1950s bureaucracy and strict wardens. Thrown out when they reached fourteen, all of them heading for rented accommodation and blue collar labour.

"It was that frustration of yours that I recalled when we met again in Paris. You had made your name by then, not in the civil service, but with your inventions. Quillish, that is how I remember you, always taking things apart to see how they worked, then putting them together better. Then my memory always harks back to that day in Paris. Your vision for Wammy's House, lighting you up inside like a will o'the wisp. You would create your own orphanages with the fortune you had made. They would be bright and airy, with kind parent figures, and any child with an ounce of intelligence would be encouraged to achieve their potential. I encouraged you, even when you got distracted talking about some processing machine. Then you told me about stage two." Roger's tone suddenly became bitter. "You talked so much about instinct, but you would never listen to mine."

Roger placed down his teacup with an audible clattering of the saucer onto the table. He went on. "The more you talked, the more I realised that this went far beyond the frustrations you had felt in your early employment. You were seeking to create a new world order. It was Superman against the villains; a force for good to foil the baddies. Academically it was brilliant, as you always were, Quillish, but in practice... I tried to argue against you, but you could always defeat me. I have to admit though that I was convinced. After you found Lawliet, all the fine arguments that you presented in Paris made much more sense. I had never seen a child with a mind like that. I've seen them now.

"I'm looking at them now. Their names spread out on documents in front of me. The eldest would have been only thirty-three. The youngest is just seven. Statistically, more are dead than should be in such a small sample. One or two, that would be unfortunate. I have forty-three names here, Quillish, and ten of them are no longer with us. Four extinguished by their own hand under the pressures we placed upon them; one dead on a case we provided for him to solve; five killed in the quest to gain supremacy in the stakes that we created. Of the remaining thirty-three, personality disorders, emotional collapses, anxiety disorders, physical scarring and self-abuse. They are all rampant, even with the very young ones, under my care now. Did you think I could be psychologist enough to clean up your mess? There isn't one unscathed.

"You never expected it to end, so you never planned the ending. L understood your purpose; Near is still a child. You saw only the potential; I'm left here pessimistically seeing only the dangers come to fruition. So Near and I are supposed to work this catastrophe out and decide upon its future. It is my responsibility, but not his. I am all out of ideas. But, you left me with resources, nontheless. A cruel use of their genius minds, but I've seen them work together now." He smiled. "If I know my children, I could name those who know now. This is one of the very few occasions which Mello will get, but not Near. Matt will know, as will Luigi; but Deontic will maybe be questioning her logic. Fenian will know. Linda and Salvo will both be unsure. Century, your brilliant mind will miss this one, but be piecing together the historiography of my narrative. Chrissie and Lamond will know. There will be great debates for years to come about who knew first. So I bid you farewell, good luck and my sincere apologies."

The Watari network was abruptly closed. It could not be reinstated, across the spectrum, without access to Wammy's House, and the incoming dialogue had been disconnected from the offset. In homes, vehicles and, in one instance, a hillside, across various locations, the fourth generation geniuses stared at their screens with a collective sense of shock. All but one.

Roger disconnected the computers from the wall, aware that several accomplished hackers had probably already implanted the means to communicate with him. The telephones were already off the hook and the door was locked. He fastidiously washed and dried his teacup. He placed back into the cupboard. He locked the door to the archive room and inserted the key into a bar of chocolate, which was rewrapped and left on a certain file on his desk. He double-checked his notes, ensuring that his psychological recommendations had been pinned to each one and that there was nothing more to add. He glanced at the clock. Just five minutes had passed since he had cut the connection. If he waited any longer, his monstrous geniuses would think of something to stop him.

Roger picked up the photograph of Quillish Wammy and carried it to the settee. There waiting was the draught, already mixed with a drop of sherry to take the bitterness from its taste. He hoped that they would call the police and not Ann. It was that formidable lady's night off and he hoped that she wouldn't be the one to find him. He smiled down at the photograph in his hand. "I wish I'd had the courage to kiss you." A choking knot formed in his throat and he dared not wait any longer. "I wish you'd had the courage to kiss me. Wait for me, Quillish."

There were running feet in the corridor outside and he silently cursed the child who was awake at this hour, when all should have been asleep. But the footsteps stopped and he fancied them gone away, until his door-handle turned. It stopped dead against the lock and Roger remained very quiet. The child would maybe assume him asleep and would go away. His heart nearly stopped and the whole house must surely have been awakened with the battery of gunfire that followed. The door was kicked in and, before Roger's shocked sensibilities could even assimilate what was occurring, Mello was in his room.

"No!" The leather-clad entity snapped. "No fucking way!" He knocked the glass out of Roger's hand and glared down in utter fury. "This is not our problem." Mello crossed the room, reconnecting plugs and the telephones, speaking into an earpiece as he went. "Ok, try now. Let them know that I made it."

"Mello." Roger breathed at the apparition.

"Don't even fucking talk to me." Mello raged. "You have no idea how pissed off I am with you."

"How did...?"

"I had to listen to all of that in a bloody supermarket and don't ask me why that supermarket was in Winchester. Just thank your lucky stars that nowhere for miles sells halloumi cheese!" His furious gaze flicked to the side as he listened. "I personally find that uncalled for, Matt. Just shut up and hack the fucking system." Behind him the computer hummed into life. "Have you made the announcement?" He stood glaring at Roger. "Matt, just stop, because I'm not in the fucking mood." To emphasise the point, he took the hands free from his ear and ended the call. "I'm sorry. Did I ruin your big moment?" Mello asked scathingly. Then added, "You are such a coward, Roger."

Roger just placed his head in his hands and cried.