by Sarah Noffke
And the thing still cries in the corner, unaware or unconcerned that I’m thinking, trying to figure out a solution.
“Shush, would you?” I say and my voice isn’t as harsh as I intended it.
The thing cries louder in response.
I take several steps until I’m close to the bassinet. Without looking directly at the thing I can tell it’s flaying its arms and legs. I grab on to the bassinet and rock it slightly.
“Go on now. Be quiet,” I say, my voice commanding.
It stops crying, and so I pull my hand back only to be rudely greeted by more wailing.
“Oh really, what in bloody hell do you want?” I rattle the bassinet again but this time it seems to incite the little bugger.
Finally I force myself to look down at it. I’m unsurprised to find he’s got orangey red hair and a bloody lot of it. His hair is mashed down in places, spiky in other places, and his eyes are bright green and seem magnified in intensity on the backdrop of his red face.
“Shhh. Shhh. Shhh,” I say
And in retort the little wanker screams louder.
“Adelaide might have been right about you. You have a sour disposition,” I say to the little red-faced thing.
It screams. The noise is unnatural. A torturous sound that I can’t stand. Not any longer.
I check the entrance at my back. It’s just guards in the house. Dahlia locked herself away in the eastern wing and is probably asleep right now. And I’m certain Adelaide is passed out. How am I the only one in the house to handle this bloody mess?
“I’ve got a joke for you,” I say to the thing who is kicking and screaming like life is a big fucking deal for him. “Oh fine, you don’t want to hear it. You’ve got your knickers in a wad, don’t you? Did you poop yourself? Is that your problem? You have zero restraint nor any responsibility. Really, what are you going on about?”
The thing actually pauses and regards me briefly. And then the strangest thing happens. Something that isn’t a scream jumps out of his mouth. It’s more of a soft coo.
“Well, good,” I say. “I’m glad you subscribe to sound logic and we’ve come to a mutual agreement.”
And then the git wails again. This time really loud. Like the coo was the calm before the fucking storm.
“Oh, for the love of baby Jesus! What do you want?” I say to the thing.
He thrashes like a mad baby, the kind that would have dared crawl out of Adelaide.
“You do realize I have a life to live and a few critically important things to do, don’t you? I can’t stay here with you, all right?” I say to the demon.
He screams and this time, it’s a hoarse sound, like he’s hurting himself with his protest.
“Tell you what,” I say, leaning down over the bassinet so we’re closer. “If I promise to take you tomorrow to a shiny little place we call the Lucidite Institute and give you to jolly people to raise you, will you shut the bloody hell up tonight?”
And then the thing tilts his head and looks at me. He actually stops crying to do this. And his face resumes a normal shade.
“Oh good. It’s a done deal then. We will trademark you property of the Lucidites, your mum can get plastered every day, and I can go back to saving the fucking world by marrying sociopaths. Good plan, I say.”
He coos again.
“No, of course I didn’t want to marry her,” I say to him. “And I want to feel bad about it, but it goes against my calloused nature.” This is the first time I’ve admitted such a thing. My desire to feel guilt and inability to do so.
In response he throws his fist in the air, like an assault on my guilt.
“I know. And then there’s Vivian’s plan. It isn’t so bad. And now I’m married to a woman who is supposed to be my enemy and yet I don’t really want to stop her. It’s fucking ridiculous,” I say.
And then the thing wails once more, but this time it sounds as though he’s taken my problems and his and coupled them into a horrid operatic number.
“Oh shush, would you? You’re going to wake up the bloody queen,” I say. “And I’m trying to figure out my problems. God, don’t always make everything about you.”
He doesn’t shush but rather flushes redder. Grows louder.
“What do you bloody want from me? For fuck sake,” I say.
He beats his tiny fists into the mattress under him. He’s got Adelaide’s bad temper. These two are hopeless.
I pull my hand out of my pocket and reach for him. It’s the natural reaction, I think. My instinct taking over. But then I pause. I’ve only held two babies before and only because I killed their mother. And this thought actually makes me rush forward. Maybe because of the memory or maybe because I hate that memory and always want to cover it up.
I scoop Lucien into my arms; his head tethers a bit back and forth as I do. Still I manage to put him to my chest and not break his neck. And then he goes completely silent for the first time. Not just that, but he pushes in tighter to me, like trying to fill the empty places between us. And I’m stuck. Completely stuck holding this thing that is still and quiet and content in my arms. I feel I can’t put him down. Not if I want peace, which I need. This experience also makes me feel human and weird. And we stay like that for a long time.
Chapter Twenty- Two
“Oh good, you’re here,” I say, shoving Lucien into Mae’s arms. She startles a bit from the rushed movement, but recovers immediately. The old woman seems to struggle with the tangled blankets I’ve encircled the thing in. Her shaking crooked fingers falter a few times as she tries to get a proper hold on him.
“Don’t drop it,” I say, reaching out a hand to catch him if the need arises.
“Don’t you know how to properly swaddle a baby?” she says, laying the bundle on the sofa and spreading the blanket out alongside him.
“Yeah, that’s what I did,” I say smugly.
“No, you tied him in a blanket the way a stork would,” Mae says.
“But I didn’t smother him, now did I?” I say.
And just then the thing starts that incessant crying again. He’d been quiet since I picked him up several long hours ago. He didn’t even cry when I made the call to Trey, asking him to deliver Mae to my house. The thing would start crying though every time I tried to put him down, relieving myself of the burden. So I ended up holding him for hours, all so I didn’t have to hear the spirit-crushing, earsplitting noise.
I look up at Trey now. He’s standing in the doorway, hands pressed into his pockets, a dumb smile on his face.
“He’s beautiful, Ren,” he says, nodding at the sofa where Mae resides.
“Who is?” I say, feigning ignorance.
Trey’s smile widens. “It looks as though you rose to the challenge and did a good job caring for Lucien.”
“I kind of had to since his idiot mom is trashed and probably lying in a puddle of her own waste upstairs,” I say. I turn my attention back to Mae. “I’ll have a nanny ready to replace you by mid-morning, maybe early afternoon at the latest.” I had thought about making good on my offer and sending the thing to the Institute to live. However, even I can’t do that without Adelaide’s consent. Honestly, I don’t know what to do with the little monster, and yet I feel he’s partially my bloody obligation. What the fuck has my life come to?
The old woman is humming now; the baby in her arms, however, is still crying, although it doesn’t seem to bother the healer. “Take your time. Do the proper interviews to find the right one. I don’t mind taking care of this precious angel for as long as you need.” She then combs her withered fingers through his red hair.
“Can you hear anymore or does that incessant crying not bother you?” I say to the woman who is no doubt going senile. “And that isn’t what angels sound like, I’m pretty certain.”
“Come on, Ren, we should get back to the Institute. There’s more developments from the science department,” Trey says, waving me to the doorway where he stands.
“Oh, fucking gr
eat,” I say to Trey. “I think I’d rather listen to that thing scream for a few more hours than chat with your monkey scientist.”
***
“You did what?” Trey says.
“Well, it seemed like the best option. The most strategic and efficient approach,” I say to Trey as we stride through the Lucidite Institute corridor. “It really is an effective way to get an inside glimpse of what Vivian is doing.”
“But you legally married her. That’s a binding contract,” Trey says, and I’m proud to say this is the most shocked he’s ever looked about something I’ve done. It’s about time I wrestle an expression out of the man.
“Yes, that’s usually how marriages work,” I say.
“But she’s your wife now,” Trey says, still in disbelief.
“And as her husband I’ll be able to catch this bloody mole, find out what other evil plans she has, and exact a strategy to outmaneuver her. All things I’ve been struggling with and sadly failing at in one regard or another,” I say.
“That’s the thing, Ren. I don’t think I want Vivian to be stopped. Her efforts are successful and it’s having huge positive effects nationwide. Domestic violence is down, employee morale up, crime down, poverty on the decline, DWIs decreasing—”
I hold up my hand to cut him off. “I have read the bloody reports.”
“All I’m saying is that so many things are being positively affected by her Smart Pods. And the company recently released a press statement that they are rolling them out internationally,” Trey says, like he’s trying to inform me.
“Again, I married this woman and therefore I shagged her. I know what’s going on with the company. Pillow talk really is informative,” I say.
Trey shakes his head. “What did Dahlia say about this all?”
I shrug. “She was mad at first, but I think she’ll work that much harder in the bedroom now. Nothing like a little polygamy to stir things up.”
“Ren, my god. This is too far, even for you.”
“Don’t be so judgmental. And a little healthy competition is good for everyone,” I say with a calm superiority.
“This is bigamy,” Trey says.
“You say tomatoes, I say tomahtoes,” I say.
He shakes his head. Trey has a moral fiber that can’t be bested. There’s no one more restricted by a nasty conscience than this man. It would be irritating except that I know he creates balance in the world. There are men like me who aren’t restricted by guilt and then there’s Trey Underwood. Without him monsters would no doubt burn the Earth down.
“And Trey, we want a healthy world. I get it, but is this really the way? Through control?” I steer the conversation back toward the Smart Pods topic.
“It’s a healthy change though,” Trey says as we continue our trek through the artificially lit hallway.
“Sure, sure,” I say, dismissing him at once. “And right now Vivian’s making people behave in positive ways, curbing bad behavior, but what if she changes her mind? Are you going to allow her to have this power knowing she’s a diabolical murderer who can grow bored at any hour and make people off themselves?”
“Well, that’s one of the reasons you married her, right? So you could keep an eye on her?” Trey says.
I nod. “Yes, but I’m not sure keeping an eye on her is the solution. And also… I just don’t know if this Smart Pod is a good idea in creating positive change. We intervene to stop bad things from happening. However, we don’t control people and make them act in ways contrary to their fucked up DNA.”
“But don’t you see that what she’s doing is working?” Trey says. “And you said yourself that you don’t know. So think on it. Keep an eye on your wife and let’s find this mole.”
I stop outside the Head Idiots lab. “Aye aye,” I say with a mock salute at Trey’s back.
Inside the dumb science lab I find two people I can’t stand and one I actually can.
“I upgraded the Kevlar suits so they now have an electrical current that can—”
“Shut up, Aiden,” I say, interrupting his conversation with Clint, my martial arts instructor.
Aiden hands a black suit to Clint; it looks heavy and like it’s dripping in disgusting technology. “As I was saying—”
“Clint, can I get another session with you this afternoon?” I say, cutting off the space chimp again.
The martial arts instructor tucks the suit under one arm. “You know you can.”
“Ohhhh…you’re learning to fight,” Roya says in a sing-song voice from her place perched on the top of the work table beside Aiden. “You must be scared of some baddies.”
“Shut your trap, Roya,” I say. “Adults are talking.”
“I can teach you some kung fu since my clairvoyance has vanished and I’ve got nothing else to do,” she says with a morbid laugh. “I’d enjoy the opportunity to spar with you.”
“Why don’t you and Aiden go play with your Barbies? And no. I only train with experts,” I say. “But I’ll give you a call if I need to learn how to be a major pain in the ass and a drain on everyone’s patience.”
Clint claps me on the shoulder as he passes by. “Yes, please stop by the studio this afternoon. I have some pressure points I want to show you. They take some practice or otherwise they won’t be immediately effective, which is the point,” he says, walking for the exit.
“Yeah, sounds good,” I say.
“So my dad says Mae is your new interim nanny,” Roya says just as Clint rounds out of the lab.
I turn my attention on her. “Stay out of my business, little girl,” I say. “Busy yourself by doing something useful, like trying to get rid of your resting bitch face.”
“Don’t you think it’s an abuse of the Institute’s resources to require our Head Healer to drop everything and care for your grandbaby?” she says with a devilish smirk.
“You don’t want to know what I fucking think. I promise you,” I say and flip my gaze up to Aiden. “Trey says you have some revolting technology for me.”
“I do. I do,” he sings.
I grimace at his unbelievably happy nature. Someone should give him shock treatment to fix that problem.
“Just hand it over before any more time with you two crushes my restraint,” I say.
“Restraint for what?” Roya chirps, obviously amused.
“My restraint to not end you,” I say.
“Every time you threaten me I know it’s just your special way of expressing your unyielding affection for me,” Roya says.
“Yes, that’s it. You’re such an insightful twerp.” I then snap at Aiden. “Technology. Now.”
He retrieves something small from his stupid white lab coat pocket.
“Remember how I was able to create that inner ear device that blocked Sophie’s ability to make you hallucinate?” he says.
“You do realize I loathe your ‘remember when’ questions, because you know I do. I’m a fucking genius. Remember?” I say.
“Right,” he squeaks. “Anyway, using the framework from the ESD I—”
“When are you going to bloody realize that I don’t care about your stupid science?” I snap again. “Technology. What is it?”
He actually nods this time, like he’s aware I’m not a fan of his long monologues about dumb science theory. “Well, I think I found a way to stop Vivian’s ability to control through voice commands. However, I need you to test the technology on her. If it works then I could send out a signal mimicking this design to all Smart Pods, thereby disabling her voice controls. Well, that is, if Trey sanctions. Currently he approves of the Smart Pods,” Aiden says.
“I know bloody well what Trey approves of,” I say, ripping the two tiny earbuds out of his hand.
“You have to be wearing both of those in both ears,” Aiden says, pointing to the devices in my palm. “They serve as filters, stripping the persuasion out of her words. At least that’s the hope, but you’ll have to get her to try and use voice control on you first to determ
ine that. I thought about testing it myself with one of the Smart Pods that we know can send out voice controls. However, I was worried that if it didn’t work Roya and I wouldn’t ever argue again. That would be a shame. Where would the fun in our relationship be without the occasional debate?”
I roll my eyes, on the verge of using hypnotism to make Aiden pass out. “Do me a favor and don’t breed, you two,” I say.
“Actually, I have great news,” Aiden says, a dumb glint in his eyes. “Roya and I are going to have a baby.”
Like my head is weighted by lead, I slowly bring my chin up until my eyes are shooting darts at the ceiling. “God, are you even there anymore? Did you go on holiday? Or are you a fucking idiot?” I say aloud to the God who uses me as a pawn and allows atrocious people to breed.
Roya’s face remains stone. Aiden chuckles at my display. “Just think Ren, our child and your grandchild can be pals.”
“Yes, let’s set up a playdate and leave the children unsupervised with a bunch of chemicals and sharp objects,” I say.
“I love your jokes,” he says, throwing his head back and laughing loudly just as my mobile rings in my pocket.
“Shut it, you bloody primate,” I say, turning and strolling for the door as I take the call. It’s not a number that registers with caller ID.
“Ren Lewis,” I say into the mobile.
“Hello, Mr. Lewis,” a woman says, her voice dripping with enthusiasm. “Can I tell you how amazing it feels to finally have your direct line?”
“I believe you just did. Now who are you?” I say.
“Oh, right,” the woman says and I picture she slaps her forehead. “It’s Jennifer Long, your personal assistant.”
“Right,” I say with a long growl.
“So I’ve gone ahead and located a nanny for you. She has top recommendations and I’ve gone ahead and run a background check and—”
