“We are in accordance then, Father.” Mrs. Gracer stood, picked up the file on the desk in front of her, then the one before Father Andrei. She placed them in a brief at her feet before turning to me again.
“Come Delilah, let’s go home.” She didn’t hold out her hand for me to hold, just turned and headed out the door. A moment later I followed, with Mr. Gracer a barricade behind me. We strode down the bleak corridors I’d called home for five years and despite my smaller steps I had no trouble keeping up with the brisk pace. Children whispered as they cleaned windows and wiped with dull rags across historic paintings of saints, of hero’s, but none knew me so well as to say goodbye. Their only interest was the adoption, which set them dreaming for something they hardly understood to reach for.
Out into the drive where a black hover vehicle waited I forced down a sickening queasy swallow, hesitating at the lifted door.
“Delilah?” Mr. Gracer asked. I turned stiffly about and looked up, a long way.
“Are you ready?” he asked with concern, pointing to the vehicle.
I nodded and slid into the car. Mrs. Gracer followed me, then we were away. Away from all I’d known. No, that wasn’t true. I knew Carne.
Mrs. Gracer patted my thigh. “We’ll stay at the hotel tonight then head home tomorrow. I’m not sure Carne can wait to see you.”
“He’s not here, Mrs. Gracer.” I said, my voice flat. My eyes never left my reflection in the glass.
“He wanted to be.” She patted my leg again after another hesitation. She must have realised I would say no more so left me be.
I’m glad that’s over Ven. Even I felt trapped in that backward place. I’m not sure I’ll ever get the sight of those children or that horrid grubby little man out of my head. I cannot believe children are left in his care or any other religious illegals! Mrs. Gracer spoke telepathically and gave a little shiver. Mr. Gracer quickly reached over to rub her arm.
I know Avvy honey, but we have her now. Everything will be alright.” He kissed her cheek.
Yes, yes we do, she confirmed, relieved.
The hotel suite – Mrs. Gracer called it – was as big as a whole dormitory but so much nicer. I was afraid to touch anything. I still stood in the doorway when Mrs. Gracer knelt in front of me and took my hands into the velvet steel of hers.
“Delilah, I’m very happy to have you finally with us.” I waited for her to continue, my ratty shoes very interesting. She always wore a severe, cold face away from the orphanage but it hadn't bothered me because, with my hands in hers, it changed her. But she definitely wasn’t the giggly mother that wanted for pretty daughters. She was calm, easy to stand beside.
She stood and made some space between us. “Would you like to have a shower and try on some new clothes while we wait for lunch?”
“Yes, Mrs. Gracer.”
“You know, you don’t have to call me Mrs. Gracer. You could call me Ava if you like.”
I wasn’t quite sure if I could trust Mrs. Gracer. Adults, in my little experience confused me but she was happy to have me here. Uneasy about something I could tell but I would try, I remember deciding. I would try. Carne had promised it wouldn't matter if I never trusted them, as long as I trusted him. Ava had come a long way to collect me, and while I would miss Ana-bird, I’d rather be with Carne now.
“Okay - Ava.” I said facing her directly. Her brown eyes were very focused.
“And this,” she pointed to Mr. Gracer, “is Ven. If you ever need anything or want to ask us anything, you can. We will both try to help in any way we can. You’re a part of our family now, Delilah. I hope you’ll come to feel that of us as well.” She gave my hands a gentle hesitant squeeze then ushered me into one of the bedrooms.
There were clothes in bags on the big bed and I was told they were mine. Mrs. Gracer – Ava, helped to pick out a pair of pants and a long sleeved red woollen shirt, underwear and socks before prodding me gently to the bathroom and pointing out a toothbrush and soap wash that had been bought special.
“From Carne, so you could smell like Delilah Orchids, he told me before we left,” she explained while I rolled the bottle in my hand.
She left me then and I shed my worn tunic. It would be the last time I would wear one of the like again. I was young but I had a better grasp on things than most children I knew. I could see the importance in dropping the rough tunic to the tiles. I said goodbye to Ana-bird again as well then. I hoped wherever she was she wasn’t sick or scared anymore.
The shower was hot. Not tepid or cool, it was hot. It took a bit for me to feel things like hot or cold. I could pick up a scalding hot pot of the kitchen stoves in the orphanage and not realise immediately how high the temperature was, so to have the shower so hot was a comfort I had never experienced. But, the smell of Delilah’s – Carne’s gift, caused such a weakness I had to sit on the floor. I knew now what they smelt like and it was beautiful, soapy and soft as I washed. The bubbles were an assault on my senses, such an overwhelming and almost painful experience.
I didn’t want to leave that shower. But I knew I could get into trouble if I wasted water so, grudgingly I’d gotten out, dried myself with the warmed fluffy towel and dressed in the new clothes. Another memorable experience as I brushed the shirt along my cheek and breathed it in.
I opened the door to the bedroom warily after I’d finished. Poking my head out, I slowly scouted the room before I spotted my new family at the dining table. I could tell they knew I was watching them. I don’t know how I knew, I just did. But they didn’t acknowledge me and didn’t hurry to curse me for my long shower so I slowly side stepped the door and followed the aromas of food to the table.
As I reached it Mr. Gracer stood abruptly and I skittered out of his way quickly; a flighty bird suspicious and untrusting. But he only pulled out a chair for me. I watched them both carefully as I took the seat. Ava began piling some food onto a plate for me. I must have looked confused.
“You don’t like roast chicken, Delilah? I could order something else if you’d prefer.”
“Roast chicken?”
“Uh huh. With vegetables, mash and gravy.”
I didn’t make a grab for the plate as it was brought close but I half expected it to be taken away again. I would hoard some left overs under the bed just in case. After the first mouthful I forgot I was being watched and I scoffed it down then only waited as another two plates were filled after each was finished.
My gut was swollen and painful. It was the first time I’d known what it felt like to be full. The pains made me happy. Carne had promised this. Such small things but the shower, clothes and food were certainly more than I’d ever hoped for, more than he’d promised.
I had finished well before Ava and Ven and once the meal was over I began to collect the dirty plates but was stopped by a gentle tap on my hand.
“There’s no need for that Delilah, we’ll do it together in a moment. We wanted to have a chat with you if that’s alright?” Ava glanced at Mr. Gracer – Ven - then gently sat me down once more. Both of them seemed a bit reluctant as I remember it but Ava sighed and must have convinced herself to continue.
“Delilah dear, while you were at the orphanage, did you notice that other little girls were a bit different?”
I thought about it seriously.
Yes, the other children cried and cried more when punished. I could hear them from their small closet space where they’d been hidden. I’d been in the closet many times but it was always quieter there. I did not mind the dark or the quiet, though I disliked being shoved there routinely.
The other children got sick. They were always so tired. Ana-bird couldn’t play after lunch and if she tried I’d hear the rattle in her chest afterwards.
She’d have nose bleeds.
Ana-bird taught me that the stove was hot. That snow was too cold to play in for long, that Sr. Christinel was scary and that the mop buckets were heavy when water was in them.
The others felt different as well:
softer, lighter, and slow.
Yes, the other children were different.
“Yes,” I answered. “You are like me?”
“That’s right.” Ava praised. Glad I think that she had a starting point. “We really need to discuss something important with you.” She turned to Ven who encouraged her.
“Normal people don’t know we’re different.”
I thought I understood her meaning.
“Normal people get scared of different. So when you want to run, wait until you’re at our home. If you need something lifted or moved, ask one of us. We’ve got to be so careful. Do you understand what I’m saying Delilah?” The word ‘so’ trembled on her lips and fear created a tang at the back of my throat.
“Yes. Scared people hurt people. That’s what Ana-bird said. She told me to be careful too,” I explained.
“That’s exactly right,” Ava praised soothingly. “I’m sorry we had to leave your friends behind.” Ava was sincere.
“That’s okay. Ana-bird’s angels came to get her just like Carne came to take me.”
“Oh,” and Ava’s beautiful face began to wilt. I remember feeling Ava’s sadness mingle with my own. Maybe Ava couldn’t cry either.
Chapter Six
Delilah
My curiosity gnawed at me like a crow ripping at rotten flesh so I was not adverse to Lolly and Marsh’s return. To be honest I hadn’t figured they would return.
“Got the good glasses,” Marsh pronounced, holding them out for me.
“Ah, thanks?”
“Didn’t think we’d be back did you, Hon?” Lolly guessed, prancing by me to her spot on the couch.
“No,” I replied honestly.
“Oh, I’ve seen their type before,” Lolly explained. As if that explained anything.
“Their type?” I asked, confused. What I really wondered was if she seen my type before. Information on my kind was scarce so it was entirely possible. Although I had, on occasion been asked to track down a few that had come upon trouble or were making trouble elsewhere. We kept our existence to ourselves for a very good reason and did not appreciate anyone of our kind bringing unwanted attention to the rest of us.
Most cases it was minor offences; petty theft, burglary, assault etc, for which the main objective was to bring them into the fold, train them and employ them. The resounding devastation of the last war lingered on and most people faced some kind of poverty. Poverty had never been one to discriminate.
There had only been two cases that I knew of that had required a search and destroy. One: Selby Swaine. Innocuous name I know. Sadly, I knew otherwise. Swaine was First Generation, one of the one hundred and fifty to escape their slaughter by their creators and their enemies. Politics. One country had something, another wanted it so what did they do? Like children, they destroyed it.
I compared Swaine to a soldier of war returning home after being held captive by the enemy for the entire conflict. But worse. Swaine had no experience in the outside world. He’d been trained for one thing and one thing only: kill. He enjoyed that talent, took pride in it, and prized the thrill of the hunt. I suppose when he’d been a prisoner all his life and had no control over the most basic details of his life he’d relished what he could control.
Swaine never really left that prison he was raised in. His mind was broken enough that paranoia and hallucinations dogged him. Gen One’s generally had extremely violent and unstable temperaments, though thankfully mild superlative cognitive functions. But they were known for their cunning, and oh he’d been intelligent. Enough to stalk, strategize and kill – very slowly – those hallucinations he’d decided were threats to him. Problem was, those hallucinations were innocent people who possibly looked at Swaine and acted strangely in their intimidation.
Spartan completed that mission. Spartan had compiled the profile on Swaine, including early life events that could have shaped and triggered Swaine. There could be only one reason for Spartan knowing Swaine so well – he’d been there. Known Swaine. Possibly like a father. I did not relish the position Spartan had been put in.
The other, I had taken care of. Copper splashed my senses as my vision stuttered and I felt the warm splatter hit me again as I remembered him. Robby Pierce decided poverty could fuck itself; he’d sell his blood as a drug.
I’d had a few sleepless nights over his death. To this day he was the only unarmed, aware person I’ve killed. He’d been Second Gen, one who had a limited understanding of who he was. I’d even disregarded orders and tried to dissuade him from his venture. Stupid bastard. He wouldn’t listen to me. Adamantly decided he ‘would never, while this earth still spun, sink so low as to work for a bunch of murderers.’
Too bad.
I’d decapitated him before his tirade had ceased. Spartan had been right, I told myself. Robby was dangerous, to our way of life and of those of us scattered across the globe. He was possibly more dangerous than Swaine, in that Swaine had the ability and intelligence to stay under the radar as much as he was able. Robby spread news of our existence like a disease. In an age where information was currency and could be delivered within seconds to millions, Robby could have left us exposed and caught. Once more to act like trained dogs or to be rounded up and liquidated. Genocide all over again.
“Their type, you know,” Lolly waved her hand about in front of her. “Hard arse, mummy didn’t love me type.”
Robby’s death was something I told myself was a necessity but at times it snuck up on me. Had me wondering why he’d refused our help. Why he’d rather have died.
“Oh, those types,” I relaxed.
“Yep,” Lolly said flippantly. “Known that type all my life, that’s why I choose to live with Marsh here,” she thumbed at Marsh who was pouring the drinks.
“What do you mean by that, exactly?” Marsh demanded dramatically. Lolly rolled her eyes and whispered, “boys”, to me before turning back to indulge Marsh.
“Only that your mummy loved you of course,” she lied.
I had an urge to laugh. Their playful joking natures were perplexing but easy to enjoy.
“That’s what you better have meant, Missy. I’m a man. You just ask my Mum,” he beamed.
“So,” Lolly enquired, shaking her head at Marsh. “Who was Mr. Mad-Eye Good-looking?” Her face squished up as the sour tang of the alcohol ripped down her oesophagus.
“Ah, yuck,” she coughed. “Where’d you scoop this up out of Marsh?”
“Don’t whinge like a bitch Lolly. You won’t even taste it after the second glass,” he tormented.
“Here Delilah. Hope you have strong stomach lining.” Marsh offered me a glass, which I took to be polite. It was particularly handy to know that I did possess strong organs and the ability to regenerate them but I wasn’t quite sure what effect the alcohol might have on my senses. I’d never tried it before. Although Spartan had drugged me a few times, just to add a little spice to his kind of training.
“It won’t bite,” Marsh encouraged, laughing at me studying the glass of murky liquid. “Not hard anyway.”
“Lies, all lies,” Lolly scolded. “This shit bites harder than the water in this place.”
I took a cautious sip.
And doubled over, coughing up the fire tearing down my throat, shredding my belly. Whilst still coughing and I’m embarrassed to say, drooling, I had my hand out silently begging one of them to take the muddy brew as far away from me as possible.
Someone reached for it and I was too busy to manage a thanks.
They were busy laughing at me. Evil. They both were.
“La niba, that is some awful concoction.” I grit my teeth and tried to shake the taste from my mouth.
“So,” Lolly nagged. “Who was he?”
“Who was who?” I coughed.
“Fucking Stars Lolly, you’re nosy,” Marsh appeared exasperated. Shaking his head he said, “I shouldn’t take you out in public. Don’t mind her Delilah she’s had this chronic compulsive disorder as long as I
’ve known her. Impossible to break her of it.”
“It’s fine,” I lied.
“We’ve all got pasts, Delilah.”
Lolly, in one eerie moment seemed to look straight into me. I’d nearly ridden her off as flaky and simple-minded but in that tiny instant I recognized something deeper in her.
“He is part of mine,” I divulged.
I had held off as long as I could. Calmed and regulated to be ready and equipped. I fluffed the pillows behind me in bed and sat the device on my lap. I shuffled about to get comfortable. The bed was lumpy and ancient. It held more scents than my nose knew what to do with. Tomorrow I was going bed shopping, or making one myself if I had to.
I could be uncomfortable and view this place as temporary or I could try to make a life here. So I tried valiantly not to wonder where all the smells originated; it made me feel bodily sick, and I’d slept like a baby on the bunks lining the soldier’s quarters at home so this one was indeed a special kind of torture.
“It’s a gift. Call me sentimental.” Spartan’s words travelled in a continuous loop in my mind. Those words made me apprehensive. And Excited. He’d said something similar some months back. But I had to be smart. The file deserved focused determination.
In the months since I’d dug my way into Spartan’s truth and scoured away the filth of sloughing trust at home, I had trekked through the Balkan mountain ranges of my childhood where, after weeks of cutting back ash coated foliage and tackling overgrown roads and paths I’d found an abandoned medical/military base Spartan had hinted at.
The structure had been dusted in white and grey residues. A result from the atomic bombs dropped over all of Eastern Europe. The radiation in the area still had enough of a buzz to leave my face and skin tingling. Like Chernobyl of the long dead past, it would take many, many generations before humans could freely traverse the area, let alone settle without some genetic reprisal.
The veins of water flowing down the mountains were poisoned and the vegetation either dead or different. It was unnatural; those double headed flowers, almost ghostly, sprinkled as if in icing sugar, surrounding the massive facility.
Variant: A Sci-Fi Romance (Variant Trilogy Book 1) Page 4
