Like Moonlight on Water: Chapter 4
And Those That Are Twisted
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And Those That Are Twisted
Violation. My heart stuttered; and his eyes flicked to my chest.
“Lila? Do you understand why I shared this with you?”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I nodded. Eighty-seven thousand, four hundred and sixty-seven.
“You traversed again last night.”
“Sal, I am so sorry.” It had been an accident, slipping into him in a way that I couldn’t explain even days later. I thought he’d forgiven me; but it had been like…touching his soul. I wasn’t a murderer, but what I’d done was—
He slapped his great hands on the table. “Lila! You traversed; and then he contacted you.”
“Yes! He couldn’t sleep. Eileen had…” Reflexively, I looked toward her room.
“She is not awake yet. Focus, Lila. Do you really not—”
“I’m sorry he doesn’t trust you.”
He huffed dismissively. “For valid reasons.” His head tipped to one side. “Though I would like to know why you do not trust him.”
I tensed, and his voice dropped lower.
“He is a good man, and would serve as a good father.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
His eyes tightened. “You believe you are protecting him.”
“This conversation is over.” I stood up; but my robe snagged on the chair, exposing my t-shirt and bare legs. Blushing, I wrapped up and cinched the belt as I turned away.
“You would have met at that concert,” he said.
I stopped.
“But you already know that.”
My old R.E.M shirt was the one I’d worn when Adam had helped us before the hurricane. He’d asked about that long-ago concert because he’d been deployed and missed it.
“You both selected seating when ordering your tickets,” Sal said. “Adjacent seats, as it turned out.”
I pivoted slowly, tears already forming, fully intending to beg him to please, please stop—but my eyes widened and I staggered back.
He picked up his coffee. “What do you see? Speak honestly.”
“Th-the black things. All around you.” Swarming his golden face and hair like moths smothering a light. Hundreds of them. Thousands. I wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Not moths. Not the electric sparks of my angels. As before, the black specks felt like…voids. Infinitesimal pockets of emptiness. I heard a gagging noise and realized it came from me.
Expressionless, he drained his mug and set it down, turning the handle precisely to his left before standing. “Eileen is waking.”
He gripped my shoulder as he walked past, turning me toward the door. “Tonight, we begin.”
“I don’t understand! Why does this matter to you so much?”
“Because the fate of the world matters to you so little.” He opened the front door. “Observe.”
Eileen bent to another of the tiny bodies and lifted it by its wings, placing it on the tray alongside its brethren. “If it’s not colony collapse disorder, then what killed them?”
“I merely said that the cause was yet to be determined.” He held one of the worker bees on his palm, and gently pulsed his modulators. The wings twitched, and one antennae; but the insect’s legs remained rigid, tucked against its body.
“Let me see.”
She pulled his hand down to her eye level—which was not as far beneath his own as a few days ago. She had grown one and one-quarter inches since activating her modulators; but the rapid growth would likely taper off in eight to ten days.
“Why can’t you move its legs?”
“I do not know.”
She scanned the tray and chose a bee. “Try this one again.”
He let her place it beside the other and then gently lined them up. As they watched, the four antennae swayed as if blown by the same breeze.
“Interesting,” they uttered together.
He tried not to smile. No need to irritate her when they were working well together. “I did not apply ener—”
“I know. I wonder if we can synchronize more…” She peered at the tray again.
He gasped. “Yes! Expand the test. Excellent thinking.”
“Like your opinion matters to me,” she muttered. “What if we—”
“Magnetize the tray? Good ide—”
“Seriously?” She glared at him, and he turned his grin into an expression of the utmost contrition.
In truth, his excessive cheer had been a ruse to distract from his sudden intake of breath. Hopefully the Servants would not note her implied awareness of his modulators’ pulses.
He balanced the metal tray on his fingertips, and concentrated on transmitting an electric charge back and forth between hands, using the tray as a conduit.
“Don’t fry them on there,” she said. “Mom uses that for french toast.”
He laughed before he could stop himself, and earned another glare. Deserved, this time. He adjusted, and instead passed the current underneath the tray. Luckily, her comment sounded insulting rather than observant. Another chuckle escaped, and he struggled to focus. And why was he enjoying himself? Granted, it had been several decades since he had researched alongside a human, but his hands held evidence of a catastrophe in the making.
He consciously relaxed his shoulders and tightened his torso to support his diaphragm before allowing the next worry to coalesce. Eileen had so much potential; but her baseline aptitudes were documented and standard modulators provided health benefits only. He would need to be cautious—and somehow communicate that caution to her—otherwise, his team would comprehend what he had done.
She grabbed his arm. All four hundred and twenty-four antennae waved in unison. They both marveled for a moment; but then Eileen frowned and leaned closer.
“Sal…” She touched one antenna to inhibit its movement. “Are they…alive?”
Surprised, he stopped the current. “Why do you suggest that?”
“Look,” she breathed.
Dozens of wings and legs quivered, and a few bees began dragging themselves across the metal, their antennae wildly flicking in every direction. Displaying what appeared to be compassion, the mobile bees made their way to inert ones, legs and antennae stroking as if coaxing their brethren to awaken. Had the bees been in a type of…coma?
“They need water,” she declared. “And pollen? Right? Because we’ve been touching them? I hope we didn’t mess up their wings!”
He knew basic information about these insects. Remarkably adept at sensing chemical, electrical, magnetic, and other stimuli, these small creatures also formed complex social bonds and demonstrated emotional range.
“Sal! Stop zoning out. Did we miss any? Help me look!”
“We need Pebbles.” He handed Eileen the tray. Where was the cat? Birds would be more useful, but he doubted he could quell their predatory instincts. A meal was a meal, after all.
“Why do you need her?”
“She may be able to communicate with them.”
“God, you really are a moron. You can’t interview them if they die! Help me!” Holding the tray carefully level, she swept the length of the front porch and ushered him to make another complete circuit.
They found two more between railings, and one in the corner of a window frame outside Lila’s bedroom.
“There may be some down in the grass—or on the roof,” she fretted over the creatures on the tray. “We’ll never see them!”
The active honey bees grew more agitated, antennae swinging and jabbing and tarsus claws scrabbling.
“Easy child,” he warned. “They are very sensitive to vibrations.” He tensed, waiting for her outburst at being called a child; but instead her eyes welled with tears and she cradled the tray like it held all that was dear to her.
“Come,” he told her. “The rosemary bush is blooming and may yet have some dew.”
Sniffing, she allowed him to lead her down the steps to the prolific rosemary on the east side of the house. Untamed peppermint thrived around its base as well, and both herbs offered tiny spring blossoms and a bit of morning damp among their greenery.
Kneeling in the sand-pocked grass, she held the tray up to him. Try again, her eyes pleaded. He could feel her sadness as if it was his own, and placed one hand on her shoulder.
“I am afraid that I might do more harm.” He guided her to set the tray before them and coaxed one of the disoriented insects onto his finger. “Let us help them as best we can.”
For the next several minutes they worked in silence—except for her occasional sniff—helping the distraught bees crawl onto flowers. When they finished, two-thirds remained as still as death.
Eileen looked up at him, and he shook his head. He could hear no movement within their simple circulatory systems. She waited; and in her stubbornness, he recognized a child’s faith that more could be done. That wrongs could be righted.
He lifted the tray, and again ran a current back and forth beneath it. The only movement was a solitary dandelion pappus that floated over his shoulder to land solemnly in the midst of the stilled creatures.
Eileen sighed, and turned back to the mint and rosemary. Some of the bees seemed more alert now, their legs busily cleaning their antennae, proboscis slurping dew. A few were even hovering in place as if testing their wings. She watched, and then used her fingers to dig a row of small trenches in the damp sandy loam beneath the plants. He helped her place the dead bees, one by one, in their final home; and she gently tucked the loose soil around and over them like a blanket.
When she finished, she settled back on her heels. “Do you think this is what happened to the Monarchs?”
That was an alarming possibility. “I do not know. The Servants are still working through the data collected over the Gulf of Mexico.”
“So you were a jerk this morning for no reason.”
He eyed her askance. “How so?”
“Hey, I’m mad at her too—but I have a good reason,” she shrugged. “You acted like this was her fault.”
One of the honey bees flew to his forearm, and then rose again to hover in front of him. Its compound eyes were expressionless.
“Nothing is her fault.” The bee dipped and struggled to maintain altitude as it flew away. “I have…concerns.”
“You want her to do something, and she won’t.”
He stood, but Eileen leapt up and moved into his path.
“Is it something you want? Or the other aliens?” she asked.
“There is no difference.”
Of course there is, dummy.
His mouth dropped open, and she folded her arms across her chest.
“This is about that ‘provisional exception’ crap, isn’t it?”
Had he heard her thought?
Her dark eyes flashed in the sun. “Don’t bully my mother.”
Impossible. Just his imagination. “I am not a bully, child.”
“That’s what it’s called when you try to make someone do what they don’t want to do.”
He bent and retrieved the tray, brushing off sand and blades of grass instead of meeting her eyes.
“Yeah, so you’re not a total moron,” she taunted. “What are you trying to make her do? She isn’t seeing her angels much.”
“It is not my place to discuss this with you.” He tried to move past, but she stepped in front of him again. “Eileen, I am trying to reason with her. Not bully her. I even shared something deeply personal so she would know I am sensitive to her feelings, but…” Eileen shook her head and his fingers gripped the tray so tightly it warped. “Bah! Humans!”
“Aliens!” she retorted. “You think you understand her just because you have a crush on her?”
He grimaced and maneuvered around her.
“Okay, fine.” She followed at his heels. “Then tell me what you need her to do. I may be a kid, but I’m not a child. And just because I’m not special doesn’t mean I can’t help.”
He spun around and her face smacked his chest.
“Ugh, get off me!” She shoved him, but only succeeded in pushing herself a step back.
“Eileen…” he looked down at her with a slight smile, “Light of God, Bright and Shining One, Beautiful Light. You are more special than you know.” Her curls were white blonde in the sun, glowing like the radiant halos once depicted around his kind.
A faint pink crept into her cheeks, but her eyebrows drew together. “Mom’s worried about me.”
“She is.” We are.
“Wh—”
“May I ask you a personal question?”
Her arms crossed again. “It’s a free country, alien. But I probably won’t answer.”
“Why have you not told Adam about your modulators? You had been excited to do so, since my alien interference would enrage him and give you a—”
Her chin lifted and she pressed her lips in a tight line.
“Ah, I understand now,” he said. “You are afraid he will care less for you, if he knows.” Her fingers tightened above her elbows, and he nodded. “This is also why you have not asked me about your real father.” He turned and walked toward the house.
She ran past and stopped him at the stairs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He cocked his head. “Because Adam said, ‘You’ve got to help me be a good dad.’ And then whispered, ‘I’ll be yours, too, if you need me.’
“You worry about that word,” he mused. “That he said need instead of want. You worry that if you have a father…somewhere…that Adam will feel relieved of his obligation.”
She stared back. So stubborn, like her mother. Neither one of them—
Jackass!
The expletive popped into his mind just as he saw her lower lip tremble. Stunned, he sank to the third step and looked up at her in awe. Gilded by the sun, she loomed over him in powerful, angry fragility—seemingly unaware of how she had just altered his life yet again.
“I-I am sorry. You are—” he stopped. Caution was even more paramount now. “Eileen, I ask your forgiveness. You were right, earlier. I am a moron. And a jerk.”
She scrubbed the heel of her hand across one eye, leaving a shadow of dirt. Her morning had contained death and suffering, her recent days had been a turbulent boil of emotions, and though she was a child in need of protection, he had been unkind when she was vulnerable.
After many centuries, shame was a familiar weight, but now it bent his head. Her feet were bare, dirty and grassy beneath the short hem of her jeans, and her hands fisted at her sides.
“I vow to do better,” he said.
“I don’t believe you.”
Her heartbeat thumped steadily in his consciousness, and he directed a rueful smile toward his new black boots.
“That is fair.” He straightened and offered his left hand. I will ensure your well-being regardless. “Will you accept a delicious breakfast as a token of my intention?”
She bit her lip, then shook his hand with one perfunctory pump. “Fine. But I’m vegan now. No honey.”
“Excellent.” He rose and allowed her up the stairs first. “Afterwards, how would you like to go for a bike ride?”
