by Jana Janeway
“But if I had just stayed!”
“You left with the best of intentions,” he countered. “You didn’t know all this would happen.”
“Shea is going to hate me now, because I’ve essentially ruined his life. He’ll never speak to me again, when he learns that I’m the one responsible for killing our parents.”
There was no arguing with her, he could see that. She was going to blame herself, and no amount of talking was going to convince her not to. Instead of trying to change her mind, he decided to change the subject.
“Are Shea and Stacy a couple?”
When she laughed, he smirked, though he didn’t know why the question was so funny.
“There’s a question that could take a while to answer,” she said with a roll of her eyes he couldn’t see. “The short version is, he’s in love with her, and has been since high school, and I’m pretty sure she likes him, too, but they’re both too chicken to admit it to each other.”
An issue he was familiar with. “Why do you suppose that is?”
“Well, for him, it’s because he’s been burned before. He’s just recently out of a marriage. She announced one day, completely out of the blue, that she wasn’t in love with him anymore and dumped him. She was actually pregnant with his child, but she miscarried three months in. He was depressed for weeks. Anyway,” she continued, “for her, I think it’s because it’s Shea. You know, the whole, this is my friend, and my best friend’s older brother, kind of thing.”
“We’re friends, so maybe we shouldn’t cross that line.”
“Exactly. I’ve told them both, individually, that they need to just get over themselves and take the risk, tell each other how they feel, but it’s yet to happen.”
“Good advice. Not so easy to take, though, sometimes.”
“Oh, sure, when it comes to someone else’s heart, it’s easy to dish out the advice! When it comes to your own,” she added, her tone changing, somewhat stammering, “it’s. . . not so easy. . . taking the risk.”
“Yeah.” He caught the halting quality to her words and voice, but breezed past it in a purposeful attempt to avoid the subject. “So, you and Stacy have been friends since high school?”
“Since before that, actually.” Her slight enthusiasm told him that she was happy about the topic change as well. “We met in third grade, when she moved into the district area. I was assigned as her buddy, her first day at school.”
“Do you think it was a mistake, telling your brother about all of this?” he asked, certain that because of her relationship with Shea, with as close as they seemed to be, she would have the ability to answer the question intelligently.
She shook her head. “If you’re worried that he’ll tell people about this, don’t be. He won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?” he asked, genuinely interested in knowing how she could arrive at such a definite conclusion.
“For starters, he would never do something to put me in harm’s way. Secondly, above all else, he’s a learner. Always has been. He loved school, thrived in college, continues to read textbooks just for fun. Once the shock of all this wears off, he’s going to want to study it, not out it.”
****
The quiet of the house led Shea to believe that he was alone in being awake. Carefully slipping out of bed, not wanting to disturb Stacy, who had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had climbed in thirty minutes ago, he padded out towards the kitchen in search of a glass of water. Turning the corner, he startled as he found himself staring back at the odd woman with so many names, who was standing at the counter by the sink.
“Can’t sleep.” He muttered his explanation for why he was there, then added as an afterthought, “Thirsty.”
Bibi tapped the bowl she was eating out of, muttering in return, “Hungry.”
Entering the kitchen fully, while moving towards the dish drainer to grab a clean glass, what she was casually munching on came into view. He then realized what he thought he was seeing was what he was actually seeing. “What in God’s name are you eating?”
“Mealies,” she answered, nonchalant. “Mealworms.”
He winced, scowling. “Why? Why would you eat those?”
“All Mengliads eat them. Our nutritional needs are different from yours.”
With a brief shake of his head, he returned to the task he’d set out to accomplish. Snagging a clean glass and filling it at the tap, his mind mulled that over, along with at least a dozen questions.
Watching him out of her peripheral vision, as he slowly sipped his water, Bibi could tell he was deep in thought, probably struggling to grasp all the information thrust upon him. Sympathetically, and with a slight amount of amusement, she made him an offer. “If you have questions, I’d be more than happy to answer them for you. Provided we can discuss things calmly,” she added in warning.
Lowering the glass from his lips, he stared into it at the water remaining. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“Just spout off the first thing that comes to mind. We’ll go from there.”
“Why mealworms?” he asked, almost abruptly, glancing again at her bowl before raising his eyes to hers.
“It’s not just mealworms,” she explained. “It’s. . . Well, in general, all sorts of insects.”
“So, Mengliads practice entomophagy?”
She smirked in appreciation of his knowledge of the word. “We don’t so much practice it as live it. It’s required. Your food holds little nutritional value to us.”
“Why?”
“Why do some of your foods offer more complete nutrition than others? If your diet consisted solely of, say, candy, it wouldn’t sustain you very well, would it?”
“I suppose not,” he conceded, then downed the rest of his water before setting the glass in the sink. “So,” he asked after a moment, “you can eat our food, it just isn’t sustaining?”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so, explain this conversion thing to me,” he requested respectfully.
“It’s a dominant gene kind of thing. If a person is born with both Mengliad and Human DNA, usually, the Mengliad genes will dominate, and the person will be Mengliad. Sometimes, though, the person will end up Human, especially if the Mengliad to Human ratio favors the Human. Like, for instance, if you are three quarters Human, and only one quarter Mengliad.
“If you introduce pure Mengliad blood into someone with Mengliad DNA, it sort of wakes up the dormant gene, and the more dominant Mengliad properties overpower the Human properties, changing the person into a Mengliad.”
“And. . . it’s irreversible?”
“Yes. A Mengliad cannot turn into a Human, even if they were one before. Because the Mengliad traits are dominant.”
Nodding, he asked, “And the muddy conversion you were talking about before? What happens there?”
“Basically, if the donor’s blood is weak—if it’s not ‘pure enough’—it has a hard time dominating. The conversion starts to take place, then it just stops. Gets confused, and doesn’t know how to continue.”
“What happens if it’s left untreated?” he asked.
“Usually, eventually, death.”
He gasped, his eyes growing wide. “Jessica could have died?”
“If left untreated, yes.”
Suddenly, everything about him was subdued. Remorseful. “So then Craddock saved her life?”
“Yes.”
Clearing his throat, obviously emotional, he muttered, “That was. . . nice of him.”
“Yeah, well, like I said, he’s a nice guy.”
Moving off that subject for the time being, he said in summary, “So, Mengliads can’t get sick, they live to be around two hundred years old, they have extreme light sensitivity, they eat insects, and saccharin gets them high.”
Smiling, she said, “Yes to all.”
“Alright. . .” He trailed off, staring at the ground, considering the next set of questions carefully.
Sensing that he was gathering his t
houghts, Bibi waited patiently for him to continue as she finished off her snack and set the bowl in the sink.
“So, then, theoretically,” he said finally, “if Jessica has Mengliad DNA, I do, too.”
“Yes. Most likely.”
“Is there a way to. . . check that?” His gaze slowly met hers, almost willing her to follow his train of thought.
“Yes, but we don’t have the equipment here to do that. There is another option, though, if you’re interested.”
His brow arched, concerned and curious. “And that would be?”
“We do the BTR, and if you have Mengliad DNA, enough to make conversion possible, you will convert.”
“And if I don’t?”
“If you don’t, nothing will happen.”
“Nothing?” he asked skeptically. “It won’t get confused and try to kill me?”
“No. Muddy conversion only happens if the recipient has Mengliad DNA, and the donor’s blood is weak. What happens when the recipient has little to no Mengliad DNA is nothing.”
Reluctant to make such a decision impetuously, he asked, “Can I have some time to think about it? Talk to Stacy about it?”
“Of course. Some people take months.”
“I don’t need months.” He pushed off the counter, preparing to leave. “I only need a few hours, and some time with Stacy to discuss it with her.”
“No problem.” She shifted away from the counter as well. “Are you thinking about asking Stacy to convert as well?”
He nodded. “I won’t if she doesn’t.”
“What if you both decide to do the BTR, and one of you converts, but the other doesn’t?”
“We’ll have to decide, mutually, if it’s worth the risk.” He extended his hand towards her. “Thanks for the talk.”
“You’re welcome.” She smirked at the semi-formal gesture, but shook his hand anyway. “Let me know if I can be of further assistance.”
“Thank you.”
He turned and left, leaving Bibi alone with her thoughts. He had a lot to discuss before making the biggest decision of his life.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Doc?”
Even though she had whispered his name, he startled awake, which caused Bibi to flinch, and immediately offer an apology for disturbing his rest.
“I’m sorry to wake you, but we need you.”
“Why? What’s happened?” The adrenalin rushing to his heart, brought on by her presence and cryptic words, was almost physically painful.
“Nothing,” she assured him. She hesitated before adding, “Yet.”
“What’s going on?” Jessica stretched and forced her eyes open, gazing up at and attempting to focus on the blurry intruder to the room.
“Shea and Stacy have decided to convert.” Bibi was expecting the reaction she received in response.
Jessica bolted upright, struggling to gain consciousness. The only word her fuzzy mind could come up with spilled out of her abruptly. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” Bibi answered her, then said to Craddock, “We need your blood.”
“Shea probably has Mengliad DNA,” Jessica pushed off the bed; Craddock followed a second later, “but does Stacy?”
“We had the Registry run her family lineage. She had a great grandfather, on her father’s side, who was a registered Mengliad. She wants to try.”
****
“It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
Jessica, hearing Stacy’s worried voice before she even rounded the corner, locked eyes with her as soon as she entered the room.
“No.” Marcy gave Jessica an upnod, watching her take a seat beside Stacy on the couch. “At worst, you’ll have Human flu-like symptoms for about twelve to sixteen hours.”
“The eating bugs part has been a huge thing for me,” Jessica whispered to Stacy. “They told you about that, right?”
“Yeah,” Stacy whispered back, “but with all the good that comes from this, it seems like a small price to pay.”
“Jeramey went to go pick up the supplies,” Marcy told Craddock as he approached her. “The Registry is aware that we’re doing this, but doesn’t want to involve a cleric.”
“Why?” Jessica’s attention had shifted from Stacy to Marcy.
“Mainly, because of the procedures and protocols that need to be followed. Which takes time. Which is something we don’t have much of.”
Anxious and fidgeting, Shea asked, “How long until we know if it’s worked?”
“Three to five hours.” Noting his demeanor, Marcy offered soothingly, “Don’t worry. You’re in capable hands. Bibi has been through the training, and could be a cleric if she wanted to be, and Craddock’s blood is about as pure as it gets. They’ve been trying to woo him for years! Guess now,” she said to Craddock directly, “they’ll stop bugging you, eh?”
When Craddock shot her a look and shook his head, pointedly but discreetly, the smile Marcy wore faded, an apologetic expression taking its place.
Noticing the exchange, Jessica became curious as to the meaning behind what was said. “What’s that supposed to mean? What’s going on?”
Frustrated, Craddock sighed and turned away, prompting Marcy to mumble a soft apology, and Bibi to step up behind him.
“Maybe you should just tell her.” She touched his shoulder to get his attention, even though she knew she already had it.
“She’s already feeling guilty, Bibi,” he whispered, unnecessarily, since Jessica could still hear him anyway.
“For all intents and purposes,” Bibi argued her point, “you two are going to be married. Probably for years! Don’t you think you owe it to her to be honest?”
“I’m not being dishonest!” He no longer attempted to lower his voice. “I’m trying to keep from upsetting her! She’s been through enough!”
“Craddock?”
It was Jessica who had said his name. Spinning around to acknowledge her, he startled when he saw that she was directly in front of him, and not still seated on the couch as he had expected.
“Please,” she asked of him, “just. . . tell me.”
He stared back at her for several moments, before finally breaking eye contact and initiating it with Bibi, silently asking her to help him.
Understanding what he was requesting of her, Bibi nodded and cleared her throat, gaining everyone’s attention when she did. “Craddock’s blood purity is extremely rare. And valuable. The committee has been trying to get Craddock to register with the Blood Donor’s Union and donate for years, but he has always turned them down.”
“Why?” Shea’s gaze left Bibi and landed on Craddock, questioning him directly.
With a heavy, pained sigh, Craddock hung his head, as if in shame, and simply nodded, which Bibi realized was meant for her.
“Are you sure?” she asked him. When he nodded again in answer, she continued.
“The rules and regulations surrounding donation are very strict. Very stringent. Every aspect of your life is researched and scrutinized. He has always turned them down, because he doesn’t want to invite that kind of scrutiny. Because. . .” she hesitated, knowing the admission was a long time secret Craddock had shared with few people, “his father—the man listed on his birth certificate—is not his biological father. The man on his birth certificate, Shawn, was, in fact, gay, and only married Craddock’s mom because she was pregnant, and her family threatened to disown her if she had the baby out of wedlock.”
“He stayed with her till the day he died,” Craddock added to his own story, “but had multiple lovers on the side. Not that my mom minded. She did, too.”
Bibi waited, but his silence told her he was finished, so she carried on.
“His position as a pure-blood Mengliad has secured for him a certain status within the Mengliad community. By marrying Jessica, his status takes a hit, and the committee will see him as a less desirable candidate for donations.”
“Why?” Shea asked, affronted. “How does that make him less desirable?”
“Mengliads live somewhat, in certain aspects, by a class structure,” Bibi elaborated. “Highest class, or Scaileps, are pure or near pure blooded Mengliads, who are married to the same, if married. Middle class would be Demis, or those who are less than eighty percent pure, but higher than thirty-five percent. And married to another Demi, if married. Then, there are the lower class Mengliads. Minures. Basically, anyone whose purity is less than thirty-five percent, including late converts, regardless of their purity level, is considered this. If you marry someone outside of your class, it changes your status. The lower status becomes the family’s status.”
“And, so, what does all that mean?” Jessica asked, completely confused. “What does one’s status do for them?”
“In today’s world, not much,” Marcy answered, “but one’s status, once upon a time, was a huge deal.”
“It can affect your ability to donate to the BTR, for one,” Bibi countered what Marcy had said. “And even though Craddock says he doesn’t want to, ‘cause he doesn’t want his parents’ lives under scrutiny, he still could’ve changed his mind at any time. But now, with him marrying Jessica, he can’t. Because he will be listed as a Minure, instead of a Scailep.”
“Okay, so, by marrying me,” Jessica summed up the situation, “you are lowering your status, destroying any chance of being able to donate your blood, putting your life at risk, and isolating yourself from everyone you’ve ever cared about!”
It was exactly what he had been afraid of. All that had just been divulged caused Jessica more guilt and concern. Just short of a full declaration and explanation, nothing he said in that moment would ease her distress, and he knew it.
“Jessica, please,” he stepped towards her cautiously, “I have reasons. . .”
When he trailed off, Shea asked, “Which are?”
Ignoring Shea, Craddock only stared back at Jessica, silently asking her to trust him, trying to convey with his eyes alone that he would answer her questions, in time, if she would just wait.
