Voice of Desirae
By NoV
**
He had regrettably received the phone call last night. At around 3 o'clock. The voice of his ex-wife telling him that his daughter was in trouble. That he had to visit her.
Now, Ian Malcolm, a man whose intellect on math, in particular chaos theory, had given him his own claim to fame, the Malcolm Effect, was climbing up the staircase of an old apartment building in the worst neighborhood he had ever seen.
Tentatively, he searched for a doorbell, and, not finding one, knocked on the frail, cracked wooden door.
The sound of locks being turned and undone preceded the slow creaking open of the door. He met the gaze of an attractive blonde woman in her late- thirties.
"Hi, Rachel," he said.
"What took you so long to get here?" she said, widening the door for him to come in.
**
She led him down a narrow corridor, dirty clothes and magazines lining the floor. He carefully avoided stepping on any of the items littering the worn carpet.
"She's in there," Rachel said, tapping a door at the end of the hallway. "And she can't wait to meet you." She walked back the way she had come, not looking back at Malcolm once.
Sighing, he knocked on the door sharply. "Uh, Desirae? Can I come in?" No answer. He slowly pushed the door open.
He gaped in awe at the room before him. Unlike the rest of the apartment, Desirae's room was tidy and well-organized. She had a computer on a wooden desk playing a music video she had downloaded. A neat stack of books sat beside a blue mesh backpack. Her closet was straight and neat, with no clothes or hanging falling off of the metal pole they rested on.
Slowly, his gaze went over to Desirae herself, sitting solemnly on her made- up bed.
"Um, hi," he said, cautiously. "I don't know if you remember, but....I'm you're dad.'
Desirae was a brilliant girl, sixteen years old. She had straight hair that went down to her shoulders. She looked at Dr. Malcolm with apprehension and motioned hitting her head with her fist. She got up off the bed, and walked past him into the next room, smiling the whole way.
He followed her into the bathroom across the hall, where she was turning the knobs on the shower.
"I know you've probably been in the dark about me for a long time, but, I'll answer any questions you have," he offered.
Desirae looked back at him, the smile still in place, and began to pull off her green t-shirt. She tossed it aside, hitting Malcolm in the face with it. A few moments later, she was behind the curtain of the shower, the warm water dripping down her neck and arms.
"My daughter," Malcolm said, "the nudist."
She poked her head out of the curtain, and, smiling, patted her cheek. Then, she had disappeared again behind the peach-colored curtain.
By NoV
**
He had regrettably received the phone call last night. At around 3 o'clock. The voice of his ex-wife telling him that his daughter was in trouble. That he had to visit her.
Now, Ian Malcolm, a man whose intellect on math, in particular chaos theory, had given him his own claim to fame, the Malcolm Effect, was climbing up the staircase of an old apartment building in the worst neighborhood he had ever seen.
Tentatively, he searched for a doorbell, and, not finding one, knocked on the frail, cracked wooden door.
The sound of locks being turned and undone preceded the slow creaking open of the door. He met the gaze of an attractive blonde woman in her late- thirties.
"Hi, Rachel," he said.
"What took you so long to get here?" she said, widening the door for him to come in.
**
She led him down a narrow corridor, dirty clothes and magazines lining the floor. He carefully avoided stepping on any of the items littering the worn carpet.
"She's in there," Rachel said, tapping a door at the end of the hallway. "And she can't wait to meet you." She walked back the way she had come, not looking back at Malcolm once.
Sighing, he knocked on the door sharply. "Uh, Desirae? Can I come in?" No answer. He slowly pushed the door open.
He gaped in awe at the room before him. Unlike the rest of the apartment, Desirae's room was tidy and well-organized. She had a computer on a wooden desk playing a music video she had downloaded. A neat stack of books sat beside a blue mesh backpack. Her closet was straight and neat, with no clothes or hanging falling off of the metal pole they rested on.
Slowly, his gaze went over to Desirae herself, sitting solemnly on her made- up bed.
"Um, hi," he said, cautiously. "I don't know if you remember, but....I'm you're dad.'
Desirae was a brilliant girl, sixteen years old. She had straight hair that went down to her shoulders. She looked at Dr. Malcolm with apprehension and motioned hitting her head with her fist. She got up off the bed, and walked past him into the next room, smiling the whole way.
He followed her into the bathroom across the hall, where she was turning the knobs on the shower.
"I know you've probably been in the dark about me for a long time, but, I'll answer any questions you have," he offered.
Desirae looked back at him, the smile still in place, and began to pull off her green t-shirt. She tossed it aside, hitting Malcolm in the face with it. A few moments later, she was behind the curtain of the shower, the warm water dripping down her neck and arms.
"My daughter," Malcolm said, "the nudist."
She poked her head out of the curtain, and, smiling, patted her cheek. Then, she had disappeared again behind the peach-colored curtain.