Chapter X

            The first thing Grant noticed when he walked in the door was Timothy Murphy, dressed in the attire of a businessman (something Grant found to be a great injustice to the boy—no, man, Grant reminded himself—that he once knew) and standing next to the enormous bookcase that spanned the entire enormous length of the enormous office. Grant, his heart pounding, clenched his fists and tore his eyes away from Tim to examine the rest of the office in what he felt was a vain attempt at impassivity.

            The office was mainly empty space, a waste in Grant’s opinion, a thought that Grant forced to the front of his mind so that it occupied the same place that Tim had moments before dominated. The floor was carpeted with a rich tapestry design that looked vaguely Hispanic, with crisscross patterns that were embroidered elegantly into the flow of the room, save for a spot in the direct center of office. The spot was a large gold emblem circle that shone brilliantly from the rays of sun that struck it from the panoramic view to the left. The left side was almost completely glass, with the exception of the black gloss panes that interrupted it at intervals of ten feet. Next to the door and set against the crystal wall was a small coffee table around which were several maroon plush armchairs.

            Grant guessed, quite accurately, that the office was a span of thirty feet in width and seventy feet in length. And at the very end, opposite the gigantic doors from which Grant had entered, was a rich mahogany desk that seemed disproportionately small, like an ant in a mansion hallway. Against the far wall, watching out over the office, was a portrait of John Hammond, whose infectious smile conveyed the energy and liveliness of the man who was its model. Underneath the huge frame (which was only slightly less wide than the desk) was what looked like a dirty license plate, but Grant’s squinted examination was cut short by Tanner’s abrupt “ahem.”

Grant realized he’d taken entirely too much time in his forced inspection of Tim’s office, and the young man was patiently looking at him from the edge of his desk. Grant directed his eyes to the wall just above Tim’s head so that he wouldn’t have to look into his eyes.

Tanner began to walk slowly across the room towards the two chairs set in front of Tim’s desk. Grant’s eyes only moved once, to catch the InGen logo stamped into the gold circle in the center, then he returned them to their previous spot.

“Mr. Tanner,” Tim said lightly, though Grant could swear that the younger man was still staring at him. “Good to see you.” His voice was smooth, diplomatic, not at all what it should have been.

Grant saw Tanner look pointedly at him in his peripheral vision. “And with my mission a success.”

“As always,” Tim said as they reached the ornate chairs, a note of condescension in his tone. “This quarry must have been particularly difficult to wrestle to the ground and transport.”

Tanner’s smirk disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Grant allowed himself a tiny smile.

Tim gestured for them to sit and then sat himself on his black leather roller.

Grant’s focus finally faltered and he found himself lost in Timothy Murphy’s clever brown eyes. It was all he could do to keep from losing himself completely to the memories of their time on the island. Tim’s face was impassive but the glint Grant saw in those orbs were the exact same ones Tim had turned on him when he looked up at him for the first time.

I read your book.

Well, that’s…that’s great.

Time and pain had etched their lines and left their print on Tim’s still young skin, making him look much older than Grant knew him to be. There was a way his mouth perpetually stayed level that made the paleontologist suddenly wish Tim would smile, if for no other reason than it was how he remembered him, but Tim did not. His hands were folded on the desk, his tanned skin disappearing up into the expensive-looking blue three-piece. His posture was impeccable, his face clean-shaven, and his hair cropped short and neat. The exact opposite of what Grant would have imagined him to be.

For a moment, Grant tried to picture the youth as he should have been. Tousled hair, baggy jeans and a black t-shirt would have hung on a lanky and fresh young man, whose cares were limited only to the decision of what to do with his free day. The only thing that carried over to Grant’s Tim was the younger man’s eyes, which, Grant unexpectedly realized, very much resembled Hammond’s own. But the instant Grant had pieced it all together, Tim shattered it with a single sentence.

“Dr. Grant, it’s been a long time.”

Grant knew that he should have said something like, “Yes, it has” or “How have you been, son?” but nothing escaped his pursed lips. All he could do was nod and it was an acknowledgement that took both time and effort.

Tim noticed it and he frowned, but said nothing hostile or bitter; he merely sat there scrutinizing the older man, his eyes losing a bit of the light that had been there when Grant had entered. Grant wasn’t sure whether that relieved him or further unsettled him, but he understood that he should have felt neither and so gave up the chase to find the proper feeling.

Tanner cleared his throat in that annoying fashion Grant was coming to hate. “As per your orders,” he said into the silence, an impatient look crossing his features as he looked at Tim, “I haven’t told him anything and expressed that you yourself were going to explain the—uh, situation to him. I went so far as to try and lead him down a false avenue of clues but I must say that Dr. Grant is as clever as they come.”

Grant took in the complement and decided that Tanner was talking hot air.

Tanner continued. “He didn’t believe a word I said. A shrewd man, I’d say. Untrusting, guarded, and intelligent. Dr. Grant may have a distaste for the stereotypical businessman, but he’s well on his way to becoming one.” He leveled an inviting smile at Grant, but the paleontologist was fast learning that Tanner was hiding a far more arrogant personality beneath his façade, and he was not fooled.

Tim must have caught it as well. “Thank you for your professional opinion, Mr. Tanner. Now if we can get down to business…”

Grant spoke for the first time, and it was a blurted, sharp question, far sharper than he had intended. “Why am I here?”

Tim’s eyes searched his face for something, probably noting how much more worn Grant’s features seemed to be, beaten by sun and memory; how much tighter his skin was from all of his exercises; how his already thin hair had long started down the path to nothingness; finally settling on the eyes that were brimming with something Grant couldn’t even begin to explain.

When Tim finally spoke, it was with a voice that abandoned its smoothness and opted for one that actually showed emotion. It was still clear and concise, but now it was soft and tinged with heartache. “Did you know that not a day goes by that I don’t think about you? That every day since we came back I’ve wanted to be the way we were then?”

Grant said nothing.

Tanner shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Without looking at him, Tim said, “You’re dismissed, Mr. Tanner. There’s a party of gentlemen coming fairly soon to discuss certain issues concerning Grandfather.” Tim gave him a meaningful glance but settled once more on Grant a moment later.

Tanner’s eyes widened momentarily, but he nodded, and walked purposefully out of the room. And if Grant wasn’t very much mistaken, Tanner had given him a look that said “good luck,” but he detected in it an undercurrent of sarcasm. That only frustrated him.

What was more frustrating was the fact that while Grant disliked Tanner with every passing moment, his presence in the room had served as a kind of unconscious buffer from the emotions that were coursing through his veins. With Tanner gone, it was just him and Tim, and the thought of being alone with the boy for an undetermined amount of time was like waiting in line to be thrown in a cage with a hungry lion.

There was a prolonged silence again where all they did was stare at each other.

Grant shivered and spoke without really meaning to. “I’m sure you hate me, Tim. I know I ignored everything you sent me. I know that it must have hurt you that I never wrote back, and I’m sure it hurts you to know that I never read through anything that reached me.” Grant changed his tone subtly, becoming somewhat more parental. “But what I did was in your best interest. What we went through, what you and your sister went through, was a terrible thing and while I’m not much of a psychologist I do know that it’s better you forget it, and put it behind you.”

More silence.

“Did you?” Tim asked.

“Did I what?”

“Did you put it all behind you?”

Grant was slow to answer, unsure whether or not it was a rhetorical question. The answer was as clear as day, but Grant was aware that it very well wouldn’t help his argument much.

Luckily, Tim spared him. “Obviously, you didn’t.” Grant would have preferred that Tim scream at him, denounce him, throw something at him, anything to spare him from the measured words that Tim was uttering in that emotionless tone. “Here’s how I sum you up. You can tell me how accurate I am. You spend all your time wallowing in a pool of your own fears and your own stubborn attitude, drowning in your own memories as you waste your talent in that trailer in the middle of nowhere. Close enough?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. “But here’s the kicker. I didn’t put it behind me either,” Tim said, pointing first to himself, then, still maintaining eye contact, pointing to the object that was nailed to the wall underneath John Hammond’s smiling visage. It was indeed a license plate, as Grant had originally surmised, and he recognized it instantly. “Grandpa had a few items collected from throughout the island, as a sort of museum of failure, right before he bombed it to hell. Before I knew that he had done this, I thought he bombed Nublar for one reason and one reason alone: to cover the shame he felt in light of the collapse of his greatest achievement. But when he showed this collection to me and Lex, on the first anniversary of the accident, I knew that he’d done it more to prevent it from ever happening again. But it did. Again and again. And again and again for the poor people who stumbled on to Sorna before it was contained.

“This one spoke to me personally,” Tim said. “It’s the plate from the tour car that I was in when we were attacked. I had it nailed to my bedroom wall as a constant reminder that it happened and that I should take what I learned and apply it to the rest of my life. When power from InGen was ceded to me, I nailed it to this wall, right beneath Grandpa’s picture, as a reminder not only for myself, but also to any who stepped foot in this room. It’s a little out of place, and yet I think it perfectly accents this office.”

Grant realized his mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it.

Tim finally broke eye contact and stared down at his folded hands as if they were going to do something amazing. “I haven’t forgotten and I’ll never forget. I wasn’t meant to. I’m not going to make the same mistakes that set my grandfather on his path to self-destruction. He was a good man, a great man, with ambitions that were selflessly designed and executed, but he did not have the backbone to believe he may be wrong, a flaw that I’ve worked hard to iron out of my blood.” He paused. “I think I’ve done a good job.”

Grant had listened intently, noting how very mature Tim had become in the last thirteen years, how much growing up he had done since they had last seen each other.

“You don’t like me much anymore, I assume, then,” Grant said at length.

“I haven’t sent you a message in quite some time, and it has little to do with my suddenly busy schedule,” Tim confirmed, suddenly taking up the more formal tone he had used when Tanner was in the room.

It stung Grant to hear it come straight from the source, but he pushed away the pain and focused on his irritations, which were struggling to outweigh his pain. “Then why have you asked me here, Timmy?” His voice sounded hollow even to his ears, and he thought he saw Tim strain to hear the words.

Tim took his time answering. “My name is either Mr. Murphy or Timothy, Dr. Grant. It hasn’t been Timmy for years. And it’s not me who wants to see you, Dr. Grant. I’m only asking you to help me because, apparently, no one else is going to get her to budge.”

Confused, Grant tried to read Tim’s face, but it was as blank as it had been since Tanner had retreated. Was it Ellie? Was she here now, waiting outside the door? And what was she up to that she’d brought Tim, who obviously didn’t care much for him anymore, back into the fold? Tentatively, fearing the answer, he whispered, “Who?”

“Lex,” Tim said simply, and Grant breathed a sigh of relief. “She wants to see you immediately. She’s so desperate for us to reunite that she’s done something very rash, and her only request is that you come.”

Grant’s spirits lifted swiftly. If that’s all it was, perhaps he would be back in Montana before the morning. Then he can put this behind him too and try and forget this ever happening.

Like Jurassic Park? said a tiny voice in his head.

But Tim Murphy shot down his elation before he could do it himself. His voice was grave and his frown deep. “Oh, you can wipe that joy off your face, Dr. Grant. You’re not going to like this. You see, my sister stole one of my InGen copters.”

Tim paused, apparently reveling in the dawning realization on Grant’s face. He chuckled. “She’s strolling around Isla Nublar as we speak.”