Daughters of Men: Chapter 2
Acceptable
A closet psychic, a genius tween, a mysterious young man…and four generations of secrets.
This paranormal-meets-science-fiction novel is Book 1 in the Daughters series. Paid subscribers have access to the entire book.
Acceptable
He paced away from the apparel store and toward the area known as Riverwalk. He needed to find a less populated place to sit and think. Her reactions today had been inordinately perplexing, and an excess of fractals would be a distraction.
Long ago, he had hypothesized that humans shared a genetic memory of his kind. Such an imprint would account for their collective aversion to acknowledge him—either as different from themselves, or even to acknowledge his presence at all—unless circumstance or direct interaction required them to do so. Rare was the human who did not fit this norm, and of those few, all could additionally be categorized as societal nonconformists; however, not all nonconformists indicated awareness. As with most human complexities, other factors were involved. But which factors?
Somehow, this woman’s alternating dislike and interest, panic and curiosity, seemed to be a specific response to him. Not to the perceived strangeness he represented, but to himself. He could only surmise that her childhood memory was intact. The fractal which had struck at him was impulsive and impudent, while another had explored his face with unfelt fingertips.
Then there was the mystery of what she saw, or otherwise sensed, that his own superior faculties did not register. What had she believed was present in the space between them?
He settled on a weathered concrete bench under the shade of a dogwood tree. Soft yellow sunlight maneuvered through the creamy blossoms and dappled across his face with dancing steps. The breeze carried the mingled metallic, salty scents of the Atlantic Ocean and the cypress-stained, diesel-tainted Cape Fear River. Behind him, he could hear the motion and mumbles of cars and people and bicycles and horse-drawn carriages that gave this historic port city its eclectic flavor. In front of him, the river rolled thickly around a refurbished steamboat on its pre-tourist-season run, the great white paddlewheel churning rainbows of spray into the cool air.
His senses were enriched with all the information he could absorb. His skin felt everything around him, from the puff of azalea and pine pollens dusting his nose to the water molecules marshaling in the air as the day warmed. He could hear everything around him, too…from the startled nicker of a horse as a cyclist whirred past its slow-moving carriage, to the murmuring bass rumble of machinery two blocks away in a micro-brewery. But he had closed his eyes, the most perceptive part of his body, which could have cataloged any minute component of the spring morning surrounding him, so that he could contemplate this singular human.
How could she be so prescient as to step away from a door before it opened, yet not be aware that she was in imminent danger on that ladder? Presumably, she had not considered the irregularity presented by the five fasteners that varied from the other seventy-nine, nor noted the torquing of the loose supportive mounting. And yet, even then, should she not have known?
He mulled this rationally, as was his way. Humans did sometimes appear to possess extrasensory awareness, and even when the anecdotal evidence was well-documented, the purported abilities were generally considered sporadic and unreliable. Yet, he thought that there was more to this woman than could be explained by the prevailing theories on methylation and variant neural pathways. She might be truly unique. Doubtless, he should have investigated sooner.
Or not at all.
The light permeating his eyelids was red and prickly warm on his skin. It made him think of her hair against his face, thick and slightly coarse. When she fell, an herbal breeze of chamomile and patchouli had rushed over him, and with her surprised gasp, he had tasted the coffee and sugar on her breath.
Disturbed, he forced his eyes to open, embracing the sting as sunlight strafed his optical sensors. The sensation passed quickly, but his irritation lingered. He was supposed to be scouting for the progeny of experiments, not indulging old perversions. His mouth twisted. He should not have sought her out at all. What he had done was risky enough without compounding the effects.
But she was not one of the mistakes, was she?
He turned his hands upwards in his lap and watched his palms redden with the heat rising in his body. Surely not.
But if she is…?
No. He scrubbed his hands across his thighs. These ruminations were pointless. The one decision had been made long ago, and now he was committed to executing the remaining steps.
Objectively, it was possible that she was a mistake, but it was unlikely. It would have been difficult for her to have lived in anonymity this long. Then again, she was not unknown to him, and so perhaps others knew as well.
The lilting cadence of youthful voices and laughter spilled from a side street, and he turned his head to watch a group of children rush over to one of the fountains. Two adults kept them corralled, and a third was attempting to convey historical facts, with animated gestures and descriptions of river trade and wartime fleets, but the young ones only wanted to splash each other.
Their fractals were capricious, and so joyful that he felt his lips stretch. Glimmering shapes pointed at clouds, raced around the fountain, or spun in circles with arms flung wide and free, their tiny, shimmering faces turned up to the sun.
A female child had noticed him. Thinner than the rest, she blinked from beneath unruly black hair, staring openly. Her fractals reflected and disappeared so quickly that even his eyes weren’t able to qualify their movements. None of the other children paid him any attention, though, and eventually the child lost interest and allowed herself to be distracted by a classmate.
With a heavy sigh, he rose from the bench.
My ridiculous morning had finally ended. After Maureen’s last round of hysterics, that is.
“My God, Lila! You don’t get it! You could’ve broken your neck!”
“It’s not like I was trying! We’ve had that ladder for m—”
“He saved your life!”
“Oh, pl—”
“You should’ve offered to take him to dinner!”
“Fat chance of—”
“What about Eileen? You have to be more careful!”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “When we get the ladder fixed, we’ll move the heavy boxes to the lowest shelf.” Opening my eyes again, I was surprised to see hers were a little red. “You’re right. We should both be careful.”
She sniffed. “Fine. There are better ways to thank him than dinner.”
I shook my head and turned toward the rattle of bamboo, but as I greeted the next customer, I couldn’t help but remember that odd little feeling in my stomach.
We were fairly busy for the next hour with regulars stopping in to see the spring collections and to chat about the new location; but by one o’clock we had a lull, so Maureen left to meet her husband for a late lunch. At last, I was completely and blissfully alone.
A blue spark zig-zagged in my peripheral vision as I sank onto the stool behind the counter. Mostly alone.
Propping my elbows on either side of the computer, I let my head droop against the screen and cupped my hands around the back of my neck. In the absence of shoppers and Maureen’s chatter, fatigue meandered through its familiar haunts and squatted in my spine, settling in for a long visit. The pressure in my bones was almost welcome—like a heavy blanket encouraging me to play hooky for the day—but my skull was another matter.
Working my fingertips from my neck up into my hair, I kneaded and rubbed. Eileen. I’d leave to pick her up from school soon. Usually I brought her back to the shop while I worked until five, but I’d been such a lousy mom lately—
Lately? Try this year.
My shoulders started to ache, but I couldn’t make myself sit up. Maureen’s jab had struck deeper than she’d intended. My child had no choice but to rely on me, and I was barely going through the motions these days. How long had it been since I’d let her have fun after school? Or made her pancakes for breakfast? Had I signed the permission slip she’d left out for me last night? I couldn’t even remember what she was wearing today!
Sunlight gleamed across the lacquered countertop, highlighting the morning’s accumulation of fingerprints. Eileen shouldn’t have to be cooped up in here on such a beautiful afternoon. I usually gave Maureen more notice if I needed time off, but I doubted she’d mind. Besides, she owed me after her nonsense this morning. And if I left early, I could shop for groceries and cook Eileen a real dinner.
The screen brightened and I straightened. A red news alert was scrolling across the home page, but I closed the window with a swipe. Another politician and another scandal. No doubt the details would be fascinating and convoluted—and add more fuel to my favorite conspiracy theories—but after last year, I was consciously ignoring “news” more than I was absorbing it.
The recent global recession—and all the finger-pointing—had nearly invoked a worldwide sociopolitical crisis. And that was just one dish from the buffet of apocalyptic scenarios. There were the usual religious prophecies and environmental disasters, plus freakish weather, solar flares, mass animal die-offs, new diseases—and, of course, war, hate, and more war. Even an increase in UFO sightings. Zealots embraced their inner terrorist, survivalists supplies, and almost everyone else just froze like deer in headlights.
I could never make up my mind what I believed, and my sparkly friends weren’t very forthcoming, so I’d done what any parent would do. I’d hugged my kid more than usual and kept our conversations focused on what could be learned, instead of feared. Luckily, by Christmastime, the media stopped putting an end-of-the-world spin on every story; and, whether by coincidence or design, the New Year began with a shared sense of relief, if not hope.
Too bad my nightmares had already started.
I stood up and grabbed cloths and the spray bottle from under the counter. After polishing the countertop, I tackled the windows, hoping to absorb some of the sun’s energy.
You have to do better, Lila.
Agreeing, I started a mental grocery list, then gave up because it was simpler to remember the few things actually in the fridge.
A lot better.
I’d just stowed the cleaning supplies when the chimes proclaimed Maureen’s return—accompanied by her husband and another man.
“Lila! Guess who we ran into at Café Salina? You remember Adam Mason! Oh, that’s right…you’ve never met him, have you? Well, he’s married now, isn’t that just wonderful?” Lucky for me, Maureen occasionally needed oxygen, and doubly lucky, Phil spoke up.
“Eventful morning, Lila?” He waggled his bushy gray eyebrows, obviously having heard a play-by-play of my idiocy. And in keeping with his boyishly round face and unkempt salt-and-pepper hair, he was always ready to have a laugh.
I rolled my eyes and looked to Adam. His name sounded familiar, but Maureen had tried to set me up with so many men that I couldn’t remember for sure. “It’s nice to meet you. And congratulations!”
“Nice to finally meet you!” His wink was quick, and I found myself sharing a grin with him—until I was distracted by the sudden appearance of hundreds of white sparks. Zooming, looping, their movements exuberant, as if all the angels in the world were celebrating.
“And they’re already expecting a baby!” Maureen trilled. “Isn’t that just too perfect?”
A baby! I’d never seen so many angels at once, but it made sense.
Maureen wasn’t finished yet. Shaking a finger at Adam, she said, “You need to bring Cara something! We have some lovely jewelry handmade right here in Wilmington. A lot of our items are made in the Carolinas. Lila sees to that!” She guided him to a display while her husband watched his young wife in amusement.
“I’d better lose at poker tonight,” Phil stage-whispered to me.
“I’ll rescue him before she gets to the expensive stuff,” I said.
Maureen pursed her lips, and Phil blew her a kiss. She was just too cute sometimes. Like my kid sister instead of my boss. When she wasn’t being a pain in my… Drat.
“Maureen? It’s time for me to get Eileen, but would you mind if I took the afternoon off? Sorry to ask so late; I didn’t think to earlier.”
Before she could answer, Phil gave me a thumbs up. “Afternoon’s yours. Then she can talk about you behind your back some more. Maybe I’ll help her track down that blond hunk.”
With another dramatic eye roll, I looked to Maureen for official approval. What could only be gratitude flickered across her face.
“Sure. Maybe our customers have seen him around…I’ll ask!”
“Joy, joy.”
“You say that now, but we can have you married off by the end of the week if you don’t interfere.”
With effort, I kept my smile in place as I grabbed my purse, but avoided looking at Adam again. I was almost to the door when his angels flooded around me. Surprised, I stopped in my tracks just as he stepped ahead to open the door.
“Why thank you, sir!”
“You’re very welcome, ma’am.” His smile matched his eyes, warm and crinkly at the corners from sunshine and a good sense of humor. Hazel eyes, like my father’s.
My chest tightened as I hurried along the street toward the parking deck. Hunching a bit, I told myself the air was chillier than I’d expected, but as I maneuvered between a family and a young couple holding hands, I noticed the angels still sparking around me.
Enough for today, I chided them. Enough! Go away!
Obediently, they all winked out, and I was left alone among strangers.