Daughters of Men: Chapter 7
Many Versions of Normal
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.
Many Versions of Normal
From the twenty-second step, the dwelling’s acoustics enabled his augmented hearing to monitor the voices three walls away. The hormones and other biochemicals washing through his body were a hindrance, but he was trained to ignore their physical disruptions. Trained to compensate and maintain equanimity. Trained to focus—in spite of distracting emotions like irritation and disgust and…something else, some emotion he was not as familiar with.
He listened to the young woman’s weeping confession as she told Lila of her alarm in realizing she was pregnant, that she truly did not know how she had become impregnated, and that—astonishingly—the adam had believed her. The polished balustrade creaked, and he willed his fingers to release the strangled wood. It would not do to leave any unusual marks behind. His presence was already too noted, having spent the evening in the girl’s company.
He had heard all he needed to know. The details would be researched by the Revisory team as they assessed and resolved the problem. His job now was merely to report and to disappear before the humans could make a connection between himself and the tragedy they would perceive. Yet he lingered on the stairway.
Humans usually reciprocated confidences as a gesture of mutual trust. Lila would likely share her own secret now, especially as it must have prompted the drama she then exploited to sequester the girl.
Shock. That was one aspect of what he was feeling. He was shocked. Stunned, that Lila—a human!—had somehow discerned the girl’s pregnancy was unnatural when he had not. There was another emotional component, though….
He heard her murmur soothing placations, telling the younger female not to be fearful, that everything would be fine, and that she believed her. His diaphragm contracted, producing an audible displacement of air. Of course she believed her! How could she not when she herself was abnormal? He pictured Lila’s face as she spoke, blue eyes darkened by dilating pupils, skin paled by capillaries contracting in response to stress.
Anxiety. With a snap, his mind finished cataloging the emotions affecting him. He was anxious because at any second she would discard the maternal role of consoler and divulge something that would most likely result in her—
That was the flashpoint. His modulators activated, and the pain was profound. His eyes teared and his breath rasped as every cell in his muscle tissue, heart, and lungs trembled as if on the verge of combustion. If he could not calm himself, the searing pain would escalate and his brain would perceive the damage as irreparable.
He sank onto the step and embraced the blazing darkness behind his wet eyelids. Categorize your thoughts, his Givers had taught him. Prioritize. Isolate. The needs of one could not negate the responsibilities to the many.
But his need had already compromised—
No! One human might die. Or lose the will to live. Or go mad. One woman.
But if she did, how would that affect—
He gripped the edge of the stair and leaned into his pain. He deserved the burn, accepted it, and began composing his report on Cara Mason. His dual-time was limited by the sleep his body needed, and like all of his kind, he needed very little sleep. Regardless, succinct reports provided the greatest clarity. His task was to identify. Others would qualify.
Introspection—and extreme discomfort—confounded his ability to focus on Lila’s voice. The data was recorded, but, really, there was no need to reference the conversation at all. Simpler, if he attributed significance to the girl’s lack of fractals. That was atypical for pregnant humans—especially given the fetus’s dominant heartbeat.
Yes, concision was best.
His temperature cooled, and the pain receded.
Not surprisingly, it was easy to convince Cara she’d had enough for one evening. I walked her out into the chilly, damp night, and helped her into the big Ford, passing her a box of tissues—courtesy of Maureen’s well-stocked guest room—for the tears still trembling on her lashes. Any second now, she was going to start crying again, poor thing. As I shut the truck door and headed back into the house to find Adam, it occurred to me that, like the Ford, Adam was her big protector. It was a nice thought, and I smiled for the first time in what felt like hours, though we’d only been in the bathroom for fifteen minutes.
From what I’d seen, she needed protection. Had the angels been fighting the dark things? Or just…coexisting? Either way, with what she’d told me, anyone who believed her would have to be ready to defend her. Secrets that big couldn’t be kept forever. And how could I not believe her? How was what she described any stranger than the countless things I’d experienced?
Thoughts for later, though. Right now, I needed to find Adam and make Cara’s excuses to Maureen and Phil. And I seriously needed some coffee. I was processing the craziness okay for now, but at any second, the weirdness was going to hit, and I really, really wanted a hot cup in my hand when that happened.
As I entered the foyer, Maureen called down from the upper landing. “There you are! Where’s Cara?” She hurried down the stairs, out of breath and flustered. A poisonous spider on a pregnant woman was obviously not her idea of a successful dinner party.
“She’s fine, just…emotional. Hormones.” I’d assured Cara that pregnancy hormones were a perfect blame-all and encouraged her to milk them as an excuse anytime she wanted to get out of something. That had actually made her smile for a half-second before the tears gushed again. Not much funny when you might be carrying Rosemary’s baby.
“Oh, no! Is she okay? Is she outside?”
“Yeah, she’s fine! Just a bit weepy and too embarrassed to let the men see. I told her I’d get Adam and pass along her goodbyes. It’s getting kind of late anyway, isn’t it?” I herded Maureen ahead of me and down the hallway back to the game room.
“Is it the spider? I feel terrible! We checked ev—”
“No, it wasn’t that. I told her I was bound to’ve been seeing things.” How was I going to tell her what I’d seen?
“What?! You scared the living—”
“I know! I’m sorry.” I linked my arm through hers. “Really sorry. Told you social events weren’t my thing.”
She rolled her eyes; but I knew I was forgiven. And I did feel bad that her party had been so…odd. I needed a new word. Maybe odd was the new normal.
Adam frowned as we returned. “Where’s Cara? Is she okay?”
I rushed to reassure him. “She’s fine! Just worn out, so she’s waiting in the truck. We were talking…” I risked an extra moment of eye contact, “…and I told her I’d come get you.”
His eyebrows rose slightly, but he turned to Maureen and Phil. “She’s been having a rough time, but she really enjoyed being here…well, except for the spider?” He glanced at me, and I made a face.
“Lila’s decided she imagined it! And after we searched everywhere!” Maureen may have forgiven me, but she was still exasperated.
“No more wine for you, missy! Sure you don’t need Sal to drive you home?” Phil’s grin was deviant, as usual.
“She does not.” Sal spoke from behind me, and I squealed.
“Yeeez-us Christ! Sure your name isn’t Lurch? You scared the hell out of me!”
Everyone froze. Guess I was a little too annoyed for polite company; but Sal’s mouth was a tight line, and he looked about to burst.
“What?” I challenged him. “Spit it out.”
“Addam’s Family, 1964 to 1966. Lurch was my favorite character.” He struggled to repress a grin, but failed miserably and looked very peeved at himself to boot. This giant, golden young man, this gorgeous Adonis, was so pathetically out of place here—possibly anywhere—that he made me feel normal.
Impulsively, I moved to his side and looped an arm around his. “It’s okay, big guy,” I patted his chest with my free hand, “Lurch was everyone’s favorite.”
Phil snickered, but Sal’s gaze was at once piercing and electric, and…sad? I detached myself and risked a peek at Maureen. Mistake. I knew to ignore Phil, whose smirk was noticeable even from the corner of my eye, but Adam’s expression was confusing. My chest tightened. Definitely time for me to go.
“Well, y’all, this has been fun, but I need to go, too…and Cara’s probably about to fall asleep out there.” I leaned in for a quick, awkward hug with Maureen and Phil. “Thank you for inviting me!”
The social niceties were so mundane. If only I could say, Look. I’ve seen some weird shit tonight, and Adam’s wife might be carrying the mutant spawn of a demon, so I gotta split. Thanks for the fondue.
Uh-oh. My personal limit was on the horizon. I needed coffee. Immediately.
We made our way to the foyer where I grabbed my purse and dashed out into the cool, salty night, a little anxious at having left Cara for so long. Her peaked face was just barely visible through the cab’s tinted windows, but she managed a little wave. Everyone was outside now, and Maureen and Phil had their arms around each other’s waists as we exchanged last goodbyes.
Sal had lingered behind, and seemed to be making a rather formal effort to thank the couple for their hospitality, but Adam walked in step with me.
“So, you and Cara talked?”
I kept my eyes on Cara, but nodded. Seeing her face again had triggered that rush of reality I’d known was coming. I really couldn’t say anything else to him, or her, until I’d had a chance to assimilate the enormity of what her pregnancy represented. I’d been wrong to so casually lump it in with the daily strangeness of my own life. This was another level entirely. Hell, compared to my world, hers was in another universe entirely.
“Thank you.” His voice was pitched too low for anyone else to hear—not that the words would have meant anything to them, but his tone was all wrong. His thank you was fervent and pained—the gratitude of a man terrified of losing the one he loved, and desperate to do what he could for her.
“Tell her I’ll see her again soon, okay? I’m off tomorrow if she wants to call.” I waved cheerily and made sure my voice was loud enough to carry through the glass. Her answering smile was bigger than I’d expected. “My number’s listed under my full name, Lil—”
“Lilith Ann, I know.” He stopped at the truck’s bumper and looked around. “Where’s Sal’s car?”
Huh. Good question. I turned to look and was surprised to find he’d taken Adam’s place beside me.
“I utilized public transportation.”
Phil and Maureen’s shock eclipsed my own as they hurried to join us in the driveway.
“You rode the bus?” Clearly, the concept was beyond Phil’s comprehension—and mine. To be dependent on someone else’s timetable was not my cup of tea. Or coffee.
“But we’re at least four miles from the closest stop!”
Another good point, Maureen. We weren’t in an urban city with a bus stop on every block. Wilmington didn’t even have blocks except for downtown; it was pretty much just a sprawling tangle of roads leading to the various beaches.
“I do not possess a vehicle.”
Oh, hell. While there were plenty of reasons someone might not have a car, I’d bet we were all thinking of just one. And here we’d put him on the spot like that. And in front of a multi-million dollar house, no less. So much for Southern manners.
“I’ll drive you home.” My mouth had opened before my brain could stop it, and sure enough, my words triggered an abundance of visuals that I was ill-equipped to process. Phil and Maureen’s Cheshire cat grins, Adam’s frown, Cara’s wide-eyed concern, and a pea-sized pop of neon-red light all competed for my attention. “But first, a pit stop for coffee.”