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Sitting in his office chair, his gaze was lost among hundreds of documents and reports he should have been reading, and despite his best efforts, he wasn't actually reading a single word. This was frustrating him more than it should. The furrow in his brow was deepening, making his office mate sweat more and more, afraid to open his mouth to ask any questions— any problems— he might have, or to request confirmation before signing.
Bruno White licked his lips, dry with nerves, and cleared his throat to keep his voice from faltering. This caught Sawyer's attention; overwhelmed by so much paperwork, he wasn't in the mood for his office mate to turn out to have a cold. That's all he needed...
That penetrating and unsettling gaze silenced any question he was about to ask, and he apologised by subtly raising his hand, immediately lowering his head.
"What the hell do you want, White?" That made him even more tense, and he stammered several incoherent words before he was able to say anything understandable.
“Quinn Navidson’s results were disastrous, and yet you’re still willing to continue with the project?” It made him very nervous when he glared at him just for mentioning the boy. “Do you have any plans to improve those scores somehow, perhaps by taking the tests a third time to see if he gets better results? I don’t think it’s—”
“I have plans for him”
He always answered him in that tone: Ambiguous, strange, distant. It sounded like something he would say, but it was still unusual for him to say with certainty— like so many other children before him— something like: 'We'll continue with it; after all, to achieve the progress we're looking for, there have to be mistakes, that's how it works’. Which was so cynical of him that it sent a chill down his spine. But for him to simply say: 'I have plans for him'... It sounded too friendly for someone like Sawyer.
He dared to push a little harder, even though he knew the potential consequences. But he was curious; he couldn't help it.
"What kind of plans, if I may ask?"
“Plans.” The way he had said it so clearly made it clear that he didn’t want him to dwell on the subject.
So he opted for the sensible thing, and continued working in silence, unilaterally ignoring all the documentation related to Quinn Navidson, because given what asking about him had caused, it was better not to tempt fate any further.
If it was something he couldn't even share with his office mate— and operating room partner— it must be something so disturbing and unexpected that he preferred to keep it a secret even from himself. And certainly not from the company, that much was clear. He couldn't even begin to imagine what he would do with that young man who had produced such atrocious results.
The only idea would be to use him as a spare part, not as a doll, or in case a toy got hurt in a fight, if that were to happen, to replace parts since he was so useless to his own assigned toy… But even that sounded frivolous and disturbing. It wouldn't be something Sawyer particularly enjoyed, except for seeing the suffering of others— of the children— in the black, lost eyes of those giant toys… The confusion and pain of not knowing what had happened to them and not being able to verbalise anything. No complaints. No pain. Their fear, their anger. Their new, limited nature was so cruel to them, and there was no way anyone could do anything to change it— and no one would anyway, because that's what he had been created for, after all.
What exactly did Sawyer have planned for that boy…? Yarnaby wasn't going to be successful if he continued down that path, and Quinn kept getting those test scores. It was a disaster. It would be a massive disaster.
But White could only sit and wait and see if Sawyer's ego was greater than his logic when it came to considering that doubt, and if those supposed 'plans' for the test subject continued getting messed up by the ineptitude of the shaky project.
Suddenly, he stood up, capturing White's full attention. But he didn't dare say anything— nor did he have time— because he left the office without a word and without looking back. He assumed he wouldn't be long, because wherever he went— if he was even going to deliver something— he hadn't taken anything with him. And if he was going to get something, what could it be? He wasn't sure. But at that moment, curiosity was beginning to weigh heavily on his back, becoming more pronounced and intrusive. So much so that he ended up giving in to it, and still sitting in his chair, he subtly dragged it over to Sawyer's desk to find out what he was doing and get some idea of where he might have gone.
But his desk was such a mess of papers that he didn't get anywhere. So he went back to his desk. Just in time, in fact, because the door opened again.
A thick layer of cold sweat had settled on his forehead. He almost caught him—
“Where is Dr. Sawyer?” he startled at the sound of a small voice instead of Sawyer’s imposing, reckless, whiny voice reprimanding him for approaching his desk, though he shouldn’t have been aware of that, because he hadn’t caught him.
Turning towards the door, young Quinn Navidson was still gripping the doorknob of the subtly open door and looking oddly at Sawyer's empty desk seat.
“He’s just stepped out. He won’t be long. If you like, you can wait sitting over there…” He gestured towards a black leather double-cushion sofa that stood right next to the door.
Somewhat hesitantly, the boy seemed to agree and went into the office, noticing then that he was carrying a couple of stuffed animals with their heads replaced after being ripped off. They were so badly sewn back on that he had clearly done it himself. A subtle shiver ran down his spine. He didn't understand what Sawyer had seen in that boy, honestly. Surely it was that destructive and chaotic attitude that he felt was subtly reflected in him in some sickening way… Or perhaps it was simply because he was perfect for Yarnaby and his equally uncontrollable and catastrophic nature, despite his unsuitability given his mediocre performance on the tests.
“Why are you looking for him?”
Because he's not in a particularly good mood…
Well, but he never was… So that was his standard. How did he manage to deal with Quinn without him suspecting his ill intentions, given his remarkable and obvious aversion to children? He'd never seen him interact with him, perhaps because he avoided being seen and heard, as otherwise the boy would betray him with his laughter at his poor, sweet, and affectionate, yet believable, performance… Which would later lead to his death…
His question startled the boy, who lifted his head from the stuffed animals he was so proud of. Embarrassed, he moved them, as if to show them or as he wanted him to see them. But all White could see was a dull, incomprehensible monstrosity.
“My latest creations… I wanted to give him one because he gave me one…”
Very noble.
Wait—
White's eyes almost opened wide, but he quickly disguised his expression.
What!?
He needed answers from Sawyer immediately. This had to be a sick, meticulously planned manipulation to have that boy wrapped around his little finger and make him trust him completely. What else could it be? It was impossible for there to be anything more to it. It wouldn't be typical of Sawyer. It wouldn't be like him.
“Did Dr. Sawyer give you a stuffed animal?” he asked, quite surprised; he couldn’t even hide his astonishment, because he couldn’t understand how it was possible that—
“Yes, a Yarnaby plushie”
He was a sick, depraved, and cynical man…
Of course he would do that!
“Oh…That's great, isn't it?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Sawyer is great… I’m so jealous that you spend all day with him…”
If you only knew, boy…
You wouldn't think so highly of him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the creaking of the door mechanism. The hinge creaked, and Sawyer returned with a stack of papers under his arm. But the first thing his eyes noticed was Quinn sitting in the armchair, and an automatic smile appeared on his lips.
“Quinn…” a much softer and gentler tone than he usually spoke.
Obviously without the contemptuous and despicable tone with which he addressed everyone.
“Mr. Sawyer!” he exclaimed, jumping up from the sofa and wrapping his arms around his waist, momentarily leaving the stuffed animals on the sofa.
It was a display of affection that White knew perfectly well Sawyer wouldn't tolerate at all, but rather loathed with all his heart. Just like any kind of physical contact, really. It seemed Sawyer hated being touched, but seeing him so receptive and adaptable to Quinn's suffocating embrace seemed unusual.
A piercing glare from him through his square glasses left him paralysed in his chair, feeling a chill run down his spine.
“Can you leave us alone?” It wasn’t really a question, but an order; but only out of the formality of there being a child present, he kept his tone as docile as possible.
White, however, understood everything perfectly and didn't hesitate for a second to shatter Sawyer's meek facade in front of the boy he was so cruelly and macabrely manipulating for his own gain. Nor was he going to sabotage his own office mate's work. Because he knew there would be consequences if that happened. And he certainly didn't want them hanging over her.
The moment the door closed, the office seemed to fall silent, as if Sawyer were waiting for him to leave so he couldn't hear him. But Quinn didn't have the same ill intentions as the Doctor. Childlike innocence could sometimes be an advantage in exposing the bitter reality of adults.
“Look, look, look!” he exclaimed, probably showing him the devilish and disturbing stuffed animals he had sewn; he didn’t even want to try to imagine the look on Sawyer’s face.
“Are these new, uh? You're getting better at sewing every time..." he remarked.
If what he had seen was getting better and better at sewing, then he didn't even want to think about what the first ones he sewed looked like…
“This one’s for you. Since you told me Bron was your favourite…” Through the door, you could clearly see how radiant he was and how proud he felt of his work, what he couldn’t imagine was Sawyer.
"I see you remembered that detail; it's nice to know that at least someone is actually listening carefully to what I say."
“Of course I hear all what you’re saying!” he sounded almost like he was pouting.
“You’re a delight, buddy…” White didn’t know how to interpret that. “You know I appreciate and adore all your creations. I find them as fascinating as you are. But I think with this one you’ve exceeded all expectations…”
"That means that you love it so, so, so much?"
"A lot more than you think…"
“YAY!” he exclaimed in celebration.
“What’s more, I’ll always leave it here for company…” He heard him take a couple of steps inside the office, perhaps approaching his desk, and from the movement of papers it seemed he was making room for the unsettling stuffed animal. “That way I’ll always think of you.”
He is definitely a very blatant and shameless emotional manipulator… He is barely even trying to hide it.
Childhood innocence was a disadvantage in that respect. They weren't able to notice the clear and obvious evil intentions that guy had. Either that, or he'd brainwashed them so brutally that Quinn's world was reduced solely to Sawyer. Which made it all the more disturbing. And there was no other way to look at it, especially since he couldn't believe that everything Sawyer was saying was genuine. Even though he wasn't there and couldn't see his face, it was still obvious that he was acting.
"Do you want another one so you can always, always, always carry it with you?"
“Like a lucky charm?” he murmured softly, seemingly considering the idea somewhat exaggeratedly. He heard the chair creak, so he understood that he had sat down behind his desk. “It would be a great honour for me…”
Quinn gasped with excitement.
“I will make the best lucky charm in the world!” he promised.
“I hope so, Quinn. I have high hopes for you.”
So that's how Sawyer dealt with a child who adored him unconditionally, huh?
“I know!” he exclaimed happily. “I’m getting top marks in school and I’m working really hard.” He said it shyly, almost as if he were seeking some kind of approval, but it didn’t seem necessary, considering Sawyer was being a master manipulator, making him feel special. “How did I do on the tests at the Game Station? The caretakers say I’m a destructive monster and a failure…”
“Who said that?” He noticed a sudden hostility in his tone of voice; there was no disappointment, he wasn’t even pretending to be worried.
No. That was a fairly common kind of hostility from Sawyer, but it was more the kind you'd see when someone was about to get the dressing-down of their life. White felt a chill run down his spine. It was almost as if Sawyer were glaring at him for having said or done something he shouldn't have…
"The person who was examining my evidence with you... said I was worse than a monster..."
The silence was long and tense. For White, it was like feeling the devil appear before him— on the other side of the door— but it didn't matter. And then he heard a cough.
"I'll make sure he never dares to speak about you like that again. You’re no failure, my boy… You perfectly know that…"
White blinked in shock at listening to that.
“Really?” He heard hope in Quinn’s voice. And gratitude.
“I promise…” he assured.
White could still feel the hostility emanating from inside the office. Sawyer was furious; his tone of voice was restrained, but filled with immeasurable anger.
He felt sorry for the guy who was evaluating Quinn's tests.
He'd heard a few things about it. Rumours that spread through the factory corridors, usually hushed up when he walked by because, being the closest to Sawyer, they were afraid he might leak the gossip… And what he'd heard was precisely that: that the tests had been catastrophic. In fact, he'd held the documentation in his hands and read it himself… The Quinn Navidson tests had truly been a disaster of epic proportions… But Sawyer remained determined to continue the project…
"What the other children say isn't true, that because I make these stuffed animals no one will ever love me, is it?"
“Do you really think that’s true, considering how much I appreciate you and all your fascinating creations?” Quinn was silent for a few seconds, most likely a little surprised by those words. He thought he heard his smile. “You know perfectly well that if the decision were up to me and I didn’t have so much work every day, I would have adopted you without a second thought, right?”
White's jaw dropped in shock. Hearing that revelation in such a soft, genuine tone was not something Sawyer would ever say. Especially not in front of anyone. When he had heard him calling him ‘my boy’ it was suspicious, but hearing that…? That was another new level…
Perhaps he did have genuine affection for the child… However impossible it seemed…
“I know…” Quinn agreed slowly. “I wish you could…”
Sawyer sighed.
“Exactly…” he admitted with an almost defeatist tone, as if it truly pained him not to be able to do it. “But I assure you I’ll do what I can… Someday I’ll be able to find enough time to be with you forever…”
Quinn smiled radiantly.
"Of course!"
White tensed up when he heard movement near the door.
"I'm going to create the best lucky charm in the world for the best adoptive father in the world!"
White shuddered at Sawyer's chuckle; it sounded so unusual… So alien… So… He couldn't believe it. He still couldn't process what he was hearing. No matter how hard he tried to see it differently, the evidence was clear. It was right in front of him.
Everything was genuine…
To a large extent… And the plans Sawyer had for the boy… By that point, he was already assuming it was an adoption. Because if not… What else could it be?
“It’s not official yet, Quinn.”
“It will be someday!” he exclaimed beaming. “Goodbye, Mr. Sawyer.”
“Goodbye, my child…”
Those words seemed to excite Quinn even more, and almost made White flee, or at least get far enough away so they wouldn't think he'd been eavesdropping. But it was too late. As he opened the door, Sawyer leaned against the frame with his arms crossed and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
Panic.
For a moment, he could see pure fear in his eyes because he had overheard his and witnessed the entire conversation. Also, because of how obvious it was that White, despite his panicked attempts to justify himself by saying he had just arrived with nervous gestures… It was clearly a lie. After that look of utter panic came anger and disappointment.
And White knew that he was most likely in for a three-hour scolding.
After all… He had heard the entire conversation, heard him reveal and speak with genuine affection, heard him even call Quinn “my boy.” Sawyer had called the boy “My boy” and “my child”! Harley Sawyer! No one else and no one less.
This was something to tell everyone. But White didn't even dare look him in the eye, much less open his mouth, and he was sure he wouldn't dare say another word for the rest of his life. At least not in that precise moment when Quinn disappeared from both their sight and Sawyer's piercing gaze fixed on him like a pair of stakes.
“Say just one word of everything you’ve heard and I swear you’ll end up being Yarnaby, or worse! Boxy’s next meal!”
After that, he went back inside the office without saying anything else. And White, for a moment, could barely remember how to walk, so he staggered, his legs trembling and hesitant, until he entered the office and slowly closed the door.
“I’m so sorry for eavesdropping on the conversation…”
“You don’t feel it. And we’re not going to talk about this, ever!” he declared firmly, to which White was barely able to reply, so he obeyed and returned to his seat, nervous and clearing his throat to silence all the possible questions that were running through his mind at that moment.
Frankly, Sawyer was right. He didn't feel a shred of remorse for having overheard the conversation; what he had gathered was that apparently— and as much as he refused to believe it— Sawyer did seem capable of becoming attached to someone and of developing feelings of protection and affection toward someone. Strange as that sounded.
But since Sawyer didn't want to talk about it, he was going to do what he wanted... mostly because he had no other choice.
He knew he wouldn't get any answers beyond that, much less explanations. Why would he give them? His curiosity couldn't be satisfied, especially not with him. Besides, he had no intention of questioning the boy, so he should just let it go.
And if it turned out that Harley Sawyer actually adopted that boy someday… He wasn't sure how he'd react, but one thing he was certain of was his obligation to never ask a single question. Just like in that situation.
"...So what do I do with the documentation of Quinn Navidson's tests?"
A withering glare almost made his heart stop.
“Give it to me. I’ll take care of it.”
After handing it to him, all he did was put it in a drawer and would probably forget about it for the rest of his life as if it had never happened. Wiping away in one fell swoop those tests, those catastrophic results, and those plans to turn it into an experiment that was undoubtedly going to fail. After all, the true intentions had emerged thanks to the child's unfiltered innocence…
THE END