Like Moonlight on Water: Chapter 2
The Music of the Spheres is a Fugue
Just joining us? Start here for a chapter index and details on how I’m releasing this sequel to Daughters of Men.
In Chapter 2, Lila is overwhelmed by reality—and memories of another.
The Music of the Spheres is a Fugue
A blotchy red flush bloomed across my daughter’s neck and cheeks. “So you get to plan a party, and I’m stuck here with him?!” she screeched. “How is that fair?!” Even her fists were hot pink, balled and clenched tight to her sides.
“It’s work, Eileen! You know, what adults do to feed their kids…? Stop being so—”
“Me?! How is this my fault?!”
“I didn’t say—”
“You meant it! Admit it! You wish I’d never even been b—”
Thunderous footsteps pounded up the stairs and the screen door wrenched open.
“Enough!” Sal bellowed.
“Finally!” Eileen snapped. “Tell her I can go to sch—”
“I. Said. Enough.” Bedraggled and muddy, Sal stalked over and fixed her in a hot glare. “Control. Your. Emotions.”
“Me?” she protested again.
“Control them!” he insisted. “Or they will control you.”
While I struggled with whether to thank him or reassert parental authority, he rounded on me.
“And you…” His eyes swept the length of my body and he frowned. “You…”
With a slight shake of my head, I stopped him. His super nose probably smelled puke on my breath. Eileen had gone from sad to furious and back again so many times in the past hour that I hadn’t had a chance to brush my teeth.
Gently, I reached for my daughter and gathered her fists in my hands. Her deep brown eyes were wet with unshed tears. “We both need to calm down. I love you.”
She nodded, the red blotches fading away.
“I made a promise to Maureen, and I have to keep it,” I reminded her. Sal made a motion to interject, and I hurried to add “Even if she doesn’t remember.”
Eileen rolled her eyes; but her hands relaxed before slipping out of mine.
“You’re filthy,” she said to Sal. “Get a bike. And wear shoes.” Her lips pursed as if other sour words curdled on her tongue, but then she sighed. “I’m tired, and I’m sure y’all want to talk without me around…”
“Aw, sweetheart…” I reached for her again, but she shrugged away.
“It’s okay. G’night, Mom.” At her bedroom door she mumbled, “Love you, too,” before shutting it behind her.
Guess I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.
“You need to sleep in your own bed, Lila.”
I started, and confusion flickered across his face.
“By yourself, of course.”
I grimaced. “The couch is fine. It’s way too short for y—”
“I am leaving.”
“Again?” Jesus, that sounds pathetic. “I mean…you need a shower and—” I suddenly noticed more than just mud drying on his feet. “You’re hurt! Let me get the perox—”
He held up a hand to stop me, and glowered at his dirt-caked fingernails. “I will be back before you wake.”
“Sal, sit down and let me see…” I tried to pull him to the couch, but dragging a seven foot tall mass of sculpted muscle isn’t as easy as it sounds.
“Modulators. Lila.” He was using that clipped monotone a lot tonight, and it set my teeth on edge.
“I’m not going to touch your precious blood. I’m just trying to help!”
His head jerked towards Eileen’s room, and a hot flush spread under his golden skin. “I have told you,” he refocused on me with a pained expression, “I cannot—”
“Yeah, yeah…your nanobots have already healed you; and you can’t risk ‘contaminating’ me even though they self-destruct outside your body.” I rolled my eyes at his drama. I wasn’t stupid enough to blurt out that he’d secretly given his own super-special modulators to Eileen, instead of the run-of-the-mill alien tech that my grandmother had asked him to bequeath. Mimi hadn’t thought I deserved them, and Sal was loyal to their old friendship…so that was that. Besides, I was weird enough without mechanized doo-dads constantly trying to fix my flaws. They weren’t fixable.
“The wounds pain you.” Monotone again.
“What? No.” My scars were still throbbing, but damn if I’d tell him that.
He crossed his arms, glorious biceps and pecs bulging beneath his linen shirt, and planted his soiled feet like the roots of a great tree. “Your work begins tomorrow.”
I mimicked his pose, chin high. “True. I have a lot to do.” He wasn’t talking about my first day back at The Urban Nymph, nor the client appreciation shindig my boss wanted to throw next week. “I’ll be very busy at the store,” I emphasized. “And you’ll be very busy teaching Eileen.”
A theatrical groan resounded from her bedroom, followed by the squeaky protest of mattress springs. It didn’t really count as eavesdropping with only a thin wall between us.
A muscle in his jaw twitched and his tone softened. “She would be safe…at school. I would ensure it.”
“You would try,” I whispered, “but you can’t promise.”
As smart as she was, she was only thirteen. And so angry. One mouthy outburst and Sal could have to rewrite the memories of dozens of kids and teachers. And if he failed? If he missed one? His team—his family—was monitoring everything we did and said and if Eileen wasn’t completely, perfectly, normal, they might decide we were a risk and erase our memories. Or worse.
Sal was still staring at the wall. He swallowed once, as if quelling something thick and acidic—and then I understood. He knew he couldn’t keep her safe. Knew it, in the pit of his stomach and in the marrow of his splendid bones.
My heart fluttered sideways and the room swayed. Immediately, Sal gripped my arms and leaned over me. I sucked in a breath, bracing for the electric connection that would merge our thoughts so we could speak freely, but instead his fingers tightened to the edge of pain.
“I will do anything that must be done,” he said. His anger was tight and low, for my ears only. “What will you do?” Lamplight glinted in eyes like cold silver. “Provisional. Exception.”
I stumbled when he released me, and with one last look that communicated pure disgust for the weak and ineffectual human that I was, he left.
Now, I had two choices. I could give in to embarrassed whimpers, or make casual noises so my daughter would assume the conversation had simply ended with his support of her going back to school. Thereby reinforcing that I was an unsympathetic roadblock to her plan, but also conveniently preventing questions I didn’t want to answer.
I grabbed some cloths and a bottle of cleanser, dropped to my knees, and attacked the mess he’d tracked in. Where in the name of all that was holy had he been? Bits of grass, ripped leaves, plenty of mud, and…blood. Slowly and deliberately, I dragged a finger through a dirty smear. He would have cleaned the floor himself if he’d truly been worried—more proof that his supposed concern was just an excuse.
I spread the mud thinly across my palm to reveal the red in the brown-black, and the damp stick of it cooled my scars. Was the gritty texture from sand? Or from millions of devices so tiny they could fit inside his very cells? He looked so human—albeit an uncannily beautiful, sculptor’s masterpiece version of a human—and bled like one, too. Curious, I lifted my palm and sniffed the pungent scents of citrus oil cleanser and the earthier smells of salt, crushed vegetation, and soil. Amongst it all was the subtle tang of metal.
Machines. In his cells. In my daughter’s cells. Regulating, correcting, repairing—and reporting. Sal had sworn to me that he’d altered the modulators in Eileen. That he’d turned off the cruel programming that punished him for strong emotions and allowed only basic data to be transmitted to his team. But what if they discovered what he’d done? My daughter was already…unique.
Provisional exception, Lila. It’s up to you.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
Then you don’t deserve her.
In quiet agony, I wrung my hands, scrubbing the slime and grit against my skin, wishing the modulators would burrow in and remake the broken parts of me. Sal was desperate to help this world—this reality—that he thought his kind had doomed. He had convinced his family that of all the humans over the millennia that my abilities might be useful. Might be just strange enough to help…and survive. That’s why Eileen and I were allowed to keep our memories. Why Adam was allowed to remember some. Why his wife and baby were returned.
Sal believed in me. But I knew better.
He’d suffered excruciating pain and sacrificed his enhanced eyesight for us. For me. Had put me on a pedestal propped up by feelings that were just…loneliness. What he needed was a family—a real family—capable of love and willing to fight his demons with him. For him if necessary. Four days ago, he’d been that for me, and we’d shared an intimacy that had scared and comforted us both. And in the days since, I’d shown him what a shallow coward I truly was.
Angels? Are you there? I shifted my focus, looking into the empty spaces between the legs of the table and along the ceiling where the lamp cast shadows. A thin, dim haze seemed to vibrate in the air, but the movement was dull and sluggish. The energetic sparks of light that had been my constant companions my entire life rarely showed themselves anymore. I had ignored a truth they’d shown me, and…maybe…they suffered, too.
Silent tears splattered divots in the dirt by my knees, revealing the honeyed oak floor. The thick planks had been nailed down by my father, one at a time, in meticulous loving commitment to my mother and his unborn child. He had seen what needed to be done—and did it. But I couldn’t see. Not anymore.
When I finished wiping and spritzing, the path from the couch to the door shone as if polished, though a few teardrops glistened on the threshold. Past the screen, the night was deep and impenetrable, offering only the ghostly scent of juniper that tingled on my tongue. I closed and bolted the front door and went to bed.
I missed Adam. And so I woke beside him, curled around him, cradled by his arms. Our bodies were cool above the heavy quilt and languorously still beneath it. The room was dark; the night slivered by the slatted blinds on the window. My fingers traced the moonlight striped across his chest.
“You’re awake,” he murmured.
I shivered, and he gathered me closer. Not one. My room had three windows.
“Cold?” He pulled the quilt up, then slid his hands beneath it and down my back.
No. I rubbed my face against him and tried to pull away.
“Lil? What’s wrong?”
Wake up, wake up, wake—
“Shh, it’s okay. Bad dream?”
Wake up, wake up, wake—
“Lil, come on honey…it’s me.”
A sob escaped, and the noise frightened us both. He stretched and turned on the bedside lamp, dimming it to a soft glow. No! I struggled to pull away, to cover myself, to wake up; but he wrapped me back in his arms and held me close.
“I’m real, sweetheart,” he soothed. “Breathe with me. I’m real…” His chest rose and fell under my cheek. “Just breathe.”
No. Not real. Not mine. My eyes roved the small room again and again, skimming across abstract art on a shadowed wall, a closed door, an open door, a misshapen chair—but my body relaxed against his familiar skin.
“That’s right; it’s me. Can you look at me now?” He tipped my head up and smiled; and I felt my lips curve even as I frowned. “You’re not Lil?” he winked.
I shook my head slowly, distracted by the quilt bunched around my waist. “Double wedding ring,” I whispered.
“Mm-hmm.” He kissed the top of my head. “A wedding present—”
“From your moth—” No! I wriggled away; and he let me, worry finally showing on his face. His kind, handsome face. Not my Adam, not mine, not mine! “You’re married! You have a son. I’m no one. I’m n—”
“Sweetheart, stop.” He frowned as I scrabbled the quilt up to hide my breasts. “It was a dream.” His voice was loving and sure. “I’m yours, and you’re mine. Always.”
I shook my head again, and the room twisted.
“Lil, honey, c’mon…” He leaned over me and stroked my hair from my face. “It’s just us, honey. You and me.”
“No,” I mumbled, struggling to recall a name…the name of my child…I had a… “Daughter.”
He stiffened.
Yes! “Her name is—”
“Eileen,” he breathed.
Yes. Eileen. I sighed in relief, and he kissed me with an aching sweetness that left the taste of tears on my lips. My hands fumbled in his hair and down his back, and he raised his head.
“I dream of her, too, sometimes.” His green eyes glistened. “But when I wake up, I know it was a dream. But for you…and Aislyn…” He freed me of the quilt and entwined my limbs around his warmth. “I’m right here, Lil. This is real. I’m real.”
Now his kiss was urgent, seeking the comfort we always gave each other; and my body responded. My hands gripped his hair and my legs snaked around his to pull myself tight to—No!
I fought back a scream and the ceiling rocked to the floor. His right leg ended just below the knee.
No! Not Adam. Not mine. Not him. This is a dream. I have to wake up. I have to—
“Shh, it’s okay…”
I need to wake up, I need to wake up, I need to—
“Lil, honey, I lost it in the accident. You remember.”
He was always so patient with me.
No! Not Adam, not him, I don’t belong here—
“It’s just a leg. Not even the whole thing.” He tried to smile, but it faded as his fingers trailed down my stomach and across a thick, knotted scar. “We lost so much more.”
The room dimmed and brightened, and I recoiled from his touch. “This isn’t real!”
“It is, honey.” So patient. “Fifteen years ago, we were in an accident. We lost our baby.”
“No!” I protested, but the horrible memory burrowed into my brain like a parasite. Pain, upside down against the roof of my car. Broken bones and blood dripping from the mangled gear shift twisted into my belly, and Adam moaning, so pale, black blood pooling hot and wet… “We aren’t—we’ve never—Eileen is alive and I’m just dreaming!”
“Lil—”
“No! This isn’t real! You are perfect and whole and the only scars I have are on my stupid hands—” My hands! An electric crackle filled the room, but Adam didn’t seem to notice. This wasn’t a dream. This was…he was… “Oh, Adam, no. She’s real! Your daughter is alive and she’s—”
A snapping buzz catapulted me upright into solemn darkness.
One, two, three windows hinted of dawn. Thick comforter and crisp sheets. My skin burned as if every hair on my body was a tiny live wire, but his expression had seared my soul.
His daughter had died before she was even born. Our daughter. Stabbed to death in my womb by metal and plastic, the injuries too catastrophic even if help had come. Even if we hadn’t been driving late at night on a deserted stretch of nameless country road. My hands pawed under my t-shirt, feeling only the ripple of stretch marks against the new scars on my palms—and I hunched over, rocking back and forth to fight the wave of anguish and confusion those memories triggered. Real memories. Not a nightmare.
Eileen. My Eileen, was asleep in the next room. I knew she was. And yet…somewhere else, she wasn’t.
Nowhere else, my subconscious whispered.
My feet smacked the floor and I raced to her room, not bothering to ease the door open, not caring if I woke her. Needing to see her, feel her, smell her, hear her breathe. The coming dawn hadn’t found her window yet, but her energy was as palpable as mist rising after a storm. It drew me to her in the pitch black, and my hands skimmed up her back to smooth her hair from her hot cheeks. Leaning over, I kissed her sweaty forehead—something I was rarely allowed to do now that she was a teenager. She’d be fourteen next month.
The other Eileen would have been born in June, too.
I shuddered.
“You’re safe,” I murmured. Eileen was right here. With me. She was safe.
For now. The morose thought trailed through the dark like an ember cloaked in smoke.
