Books by Frederic Martin
The Vox Oculis Series
Not Alone
The Innocence of Westbury
Forest
NOT ALONE
A Vox Oculis Novel
Frederic Martin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2020 by Frederic Martin
All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Published by NthSense Books
Richmond, Vermont
www.nthsensebooks.com
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NthSense, NthSense Books, and the NthSense Books logo are trademarks of NthSense, LLC.
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Cover images used under license from Shutterstock.com.
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ISBN: 978-1-7340240-6-7 (hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-7340240-0-5 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-7340240-1-2 (ebook)
To Mariah and Jonathan
for being entranced by the stories I wove
as we sat in the wavering glow of crackling
campfires in the deep Adirondack nights.
Contents
August 2031
June 2011
1. Another Year of Survival
2. Will
3. The Park
4. Blue
5. Contact
6. Is It Possible?
7. Blue Fits In
8. Summer Job
9. Blue Steps Out
10. Routine
11. Home
12. I Think Therefore IR
13. Dinner At The O’Days
14. Not Alone
15. Night Stalkers
16. Lab Discovery
17. Field Discoveries
18. No Going Back
19. The Proposition
20. Mortal
21. Sleepless
22. Bronco
23. Captive
24. Storm
25. Moving Day
26. Seed of Panic
27. Still Captive
28. The Hunt Really Begins
29. Final Interview
30. The Power of Six Brains
31. Carried Away
32. Key Decisions
33. Knife Edge
34. Low Tide
35. Paradox
36. Picking Up The Pieces
37. Summer’s End
38. Dinner At The O’Days
39. Old Haunt
Afterword
Acknowledgments
About the Author
August 2031
“As humans, we perceive the world through our wonderful senses of taste, touch, sound, smell, and sight. All these senses combine in our brain to create this rich, beautiful reality that we live in. It is these senses that allow us to not only perceive, but to interact with the world.
As humans, we naturally tend to believe that the world we perceive is the only reality. But consider for a moment a dog’s world. Dogs can only discern two basic colors, and yet can see in five times less light than we can. Their ears have a range of hearing that is three times higher than ours, and their noses have a sense of smell that is forty-four times more sensitive than ours.
What is their reality? Imagine if you had the senses that a dog has. Think of how your brain would have to rewire itself to handle these different senses. Can we even imagine it?
I ask this question because I am here today to tell you about some very, very, very rare people that have senses, in particular eyes, that perceive the world much differently than the rest of us. Their eyes can perceive twice the range of color and actually radiate a light we can’t even see.
Their eyes have several other amazing features that I’ll tell you about later in the talk, but the point I want to make now is this: reality for these rare individuals is so different from ours that it is unimaginable and incomprehensible to most of us. So incredible and incomprehensible, it is magical. But like so many magical things, to some, it is threatening . . .”
From the International Symposium on Genetic Variance, Castleton University, August 14th, 2031
June 2011
1
Another Year of Survival
Blue’s eyes were closed. She had closed them so she could open her mind to the familiar sounds that surrounded her now. There was the whine of the car tires on warm asphalt, the muffled hum of the motor that was buried somewhere behind the dashboard in front of her, the occasional rush of a car racing by in the other direction. And over it all was the soothing soft rumble of the rushing wind just above her head, coming from a slot formed by the slightly rolled down window. Blue felt the pressure of the seat gently pushing her about as the car followed the lumps and rolls and curves of the road. She felt the warmth of the sun as it moved to different places on her body mirroring the movements of the car like a solar compass. Shadows of passing trees created a pink-orange pulsing light show on the inside of her closed eyelids. The shadows gave the illusion that instead of being inside a car, she was in the middle of a stampede of giants who were racing the opposite direction and rocking the ground with their massive strides. She felt a kinship to the tree-giants because she wished she was racing the opposite direction, too. She didn’t know the destination of the giants but it had to be better than where she was going.
She had made trips like this before. Many times. Each one was supposed to be the last, the one that resulted in a permanent situation. Instead, each one resulted in a return trip. Return to what? Brookhaven Shelter, that dismal holding tank for the unwanted, or a respite house where there was at least someone who was trying to be helpful, or wherever else they had room to keep her until the next family who might take her came around. And then off she went again. She had long ago abandoned hope that the next place would be the one that actually worked, where she could create some sort of normal stable life like the one every single kid around her seemed to have. For Blue, this car and the woman who drove it, Mrs. Jamison, were the only stable parts of her life.
Blue had started to fantasize that instead of stopping, they could just keep going. They could live in this car, driving and driving forever, visiting a hundred new places each year. They would never stay for long—just long enough to experience something new but not long enough for something bad to start happening. Then they would hop in the car and take off for another new place. They would never need to get to know anyone else. Blue would never have to pretend to be someone she was not. She would never again have to stand by her familiar beat-up old duffel bags and watch as Mrs. Jamison drove off, carrying hope and stability with her. Blue sighed. She was going to have to go through the ritual again. There was no driving off into the sunset for her.
She concentrated on the sounds again to stop these uncomfortable thoughts from rattling around in her brain. The rumbling wind was soothing and she eased the window down a tad more to make it louder. The distraction worked for a while, but the thoughts managed to elbow their way back in and circle round and round. It was impossible to stop her brain sometimes, but she managed to at least guide it to thinking about less stressful things, like some of the things Mrs. Jamison had said earlier in the trip. Well, not “said” exactly, more like what she thought. What Mrs. Jamison had said out loud were the details of the new situation, which Blue had listened to politely but wasn’t interested
in processing just then. She caught the gist of it, there was a lot of blah, blah, blah about the new family, and something about Mrs. O’Day and blah, blah. Blue tucked the words away for a later time when she could control her reaction to them. She didn’t want to deal with them just then. Thankfully, Mrs. Jamison didn’t rattle on and on. She only gave Blue the essentials and then stopped. It was like she knew how much Blue could handle at a time, and then she knew when to be quiet.
When Mrs. Jamison was quiet, Mrs. Jamison was thoughtful. Blue paid more attention to Mrs. Jamison’s thoughts than her words, because they were more than just the monotonous drone of pointless information about Blue’s new situation. They were the deep thoughts of the true Mrs. Jamison, and they comforted her.
“I don’t know how this girl manages to survive all these changes . . . three families and a group home in four years,” thought Mrs. Jamison. She looked at Blue and Blue gave her a small half-smile. “And the trouble she’s seen, and look at her. Here she sits, as calm and peaceful as a saint . . . I honestly don’t think I could do it . . . she must have some inner strength I don’t have . . . why can’t there be more families out there willing to take these older kids . . . all they want is the younger ones . . . I guess I can’t blame them . . . it’s hard taking in these kids who have seen so much trouble . . . thank goodness we got the O’Days this time.”
Blue couldn’t hear everyone’s thoughts, and some people’s thoughts she didn’t want to hear, but Mrs. Jamison was a rarity, a truly good soul, so she didn’t mind listening in on her thoughts. They had a musical, lyrical quality to them. They were the sounds of a thoughtful person. They were a far cry from the bitter, spiteful thoughts of truly vicious people, people Blue sometimes couldn’t ignore, people she sometimes couldn’t control her reactions to. Sometimes those people’s thoughts just crossed a line, and Blue couldn’t let them get away with it. And that is one of the reasons why she was sitting in this car. Again. Another year, another new foster family, a new school, new vicious kids, new idiot teachers, new trips to principal’s office, new breakdowns, new violent outbursts, new counselors, new therapists.
Another year to survive.
The car slowed down and Mrs. Jamison pulled to the curb next to an old Victorian-style house. It had gray shingles and white trim, which gave it an ancient, wise look. A small yard was surrounded by a low white fence, and lilacs were tucked about the foundation of the house like a fragrant and colorful scarf around an old lady’s neck. From the front door came a solidly built woman whose age was hard to determine but whose face showed a lot of experience. Mrs. O’Day, no doubt. She had a nice smile, Blue thought. It was a comforting smile, even to Blue’s hardened eyes. Not overdone, not forced, not artificial. It was very natural. She noted it, but took no encouragement from it. Never get optimistic, it will just make it worse later when you get let down. Again.
She closed her eyes and took one last note of the pressure and warmth of the car seat on her legs and felt the vibration of the car stop as Mrs. Jamison turned it off. Blue sighed, took a breath, opened her eyes, and opened the door. As she got out, she put on her practiced act of being an ordinary girl joining an ordinary family looking forward to an ordinary year. It was like putting on an old well-worn sweater. But underneath the sweater, her heart was empty.
2
Will
Will was awake and had been for some time, but he kept his eyes closed just for the pleasant sensation: no more school. He didn’t have to jump out of bed onto the cold floor and struggle into his clothes while stumbling down the hall. No more squinting into the glare of the brightly-lit bathroom only to have the door slammed in his face by his little sister, Rose, as she slipped in ahead of him.
No, those mornings were gone for a while, replaced by the luxury of sleeping in—letting the sun warm him in bed. He knew it would end all too soon, in a couple of weeks when his summer job started. But now it was nice to just bask in the glory of having gotten through 9th grade and looking forward to being in 10th without having to deal with being at the bottom of the pecking order anymore.
Being a freshman sucked. He had no idea it would be so sucky. The only decent part about it was that he managed to squeak onto the JV basketball team. For once he actually thanked God for living in a small Vermont town with only a Division 2 high school team. There was no way he would have made it on a Division 1 JV team. And now he was a sophomore! That word had such a delicious sound to it, Will thought. It sounded like freedom. It was like getting released from prison.
It was so pleasant just lying there with that thought that he didn’t even mind when Rose came in and plunked herself down on his bed with a bowl of cereal in her hand and a significant look on her face. She looked away and munched thoughtfully for a while, glancing at Will from time to time, waiting for him to get annoyed. It wasn’t working. There wasn’t much that could knock Will out of his good mood. She leaned over toward him, close to his face, and slurped a spoonful of cereal as long and slow and as annoyingly as she could. Then she chewed it open-mouthed, smacking loudly. Will just laughed.
“Wow, are you in a good mood today!” she said, trying to sound disappointed. Will could tell she wasn’t really. She could be ridiculously annoying sometimes but today it was just an act. She was glad school was over, too.
Rose leaned back and sat cross-legged, concentrating on her breakfast. “I heard the O’Days took in another kid,” she said as she sucked down another spoonful and glanced slyly at him.
That did catch him by surprise, but he wasn’t about to let on. “Oh my goodness!” he said. “The O’Days took in a foster child! What a shock! What will the neighbors say!”
Rose snorted and laughed.
The O’Days were the neighbors across the street and down the block. They lived in a huge old Victorian house. The whole neighborhood had always treated “Ma Beth” and “Pa Bill” O’Day almost like second parents. A new foster kid at their house was as normal as a March snow storm.
“Have you seen him . . . her . . . IT . . . yet?” asked Will.
Rose snorted again. “No, but I know it’s a girl. Fourteen I think.” Rose frowned. “Why can’t they ever get a girl who’s closer to my age?”
“Well, I think it’s because they keep most girls your age in a cage at the zoo,” said Will, “or they should.”
Rose stuck her tongue out. It was all milky and covered with granola crumbs.
“Gross! See what I mean? You animal,” Will said. But Rose had succeeded in getting his attention. A girl. Fourteen was only a year or two younger than he was. Probably an eighth grader, he thought. Make that ninth grader now. An incoming freshman. Lucky her.
“I don’t suppose you heard what grade she’s in?”
“Nope, and we zoo animals would never tell you if we did. We stick together,” said Rose. “Sam said her nickname is Little Fox.” Sam was the youngest O’Day and the same age as Rose. “Perfect for being in the zoo. I think I’ll call myself something zoo-ey—maybe Meerkat!”
“Little Fox? That’s not her real name.”
“So . . . that’s even more interesting,” said Rose. “Sam said her actual name is Blue. Don’t you think that is a cool name? I wonder if it is short for something else, like Blooo . . . oom? Blossom?”
“How about Blueberry? Or Blooper, or Bluto?”
Rose laughed. “That would be really biz-arre.” She had recently locked onto the word ‘bizarre’ and used it every chance she had, as only a nine-year-old sister can, with a long buzzing “bizzzz” and a slow, dangling “aarrr”.
“Anyway, that’s all Sam knew except that he says she doesn’t talk much and just stays in her bedroom a lot.”
Not unusual for a new foster kid at the O’Days, thought Will. “I bet I would hunker down in my room for a while if I were a newbie in that house.”
“Yeah, or if you did something wrong.” She looked at Will with a sly grin.
“And . . . that would be?”
“She
had an ‘incident’ the second day she was in the house.”
“An incident? The second day?” said Will. “How long has she been there?” He thought his good friend Wu would have told him about it at school, but come to think of it, Will had been concentrating so much on final exams, he really didn’t see Wu much in the past week. Wu was another foster kid at the O’Days. His full name was Ben Wu, but everyone called him “Wu”.
“Since last Wednesday, I guess,” said Rose.
Right in the middle of exams, thought Will. “Huh,” he said. “So what was this ‘incident’?”
Rose picked up her empty cereal bowl and started heading out of Will’s bedroom. “Uh, I think I hear Mom calling . . .”
Okay, thought Will, now she is starting to be my familiar annoying sister. “So are you going to tell me?”
Rose turned and said limply, “Tell you what?” And then she started accelerating out the door.
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