The apartment was empty when I plodded through the door, soaked and hollow. I was finally beginning to understand why Mom could never calm down-Manticore would stress anybody out. It was amazing that Dad hadn't gone bald from pulling his hair out in a frantic frenzy; then again, he let the emotions brew on the inside where they could be kept away out of the normal human eye. This factor of hiding your feelings doesn't work real well when your daughter's a transgenic mind-reader.
After grabbing a handful of pretzels that were so stale I could have built a house out of them and it wouldn't have broke, I checked the apartment for any signs of life. Mom's bed was made, although there were a few wrinkles where it appeared as though she had sat down to tie her shoes. The room where Dad had stayed was empty, but the covers on the bed were strewn back as if somebody had barely gotten out of their nightmare alive. Shrugging, I tried not to feel the pain that arose from being so alone.
I flopped down on the couch that I called a bed, finished with the pretzels and no longer physically hungry, but emotionally and mentally. The questions that I had were unable to be counted by a modern man. Case had answered the few that he was able to, but having not lived at any of the Manticore bases and experienced the horror first hand, his knowledge was tragically limited. I wouldn't dare ask Krit or Syl, considering that they might just decide to commit suicide in their depressed state. Mom was my next best hope, which, of course, she had to be gone when I came back. The person I really wanted to talk to, surprisingly, was dear old Dad. He had, after all, been captain and known nearly everything there was to know. Besides, he wouldn't let his emotions get in the way when I asked him about the past; Mom, unfortunately, might burst into tears and leave in a flurry of sniffles. She was most aggravating like that sometimes.
Rolling over on my side, I didn't even bother to shrug out of my coat as I rested my head in the corner of the arm and the cushion of the couch. I pressed my acute nose to the rugged covering and inhaled deeply, taking in all of the sweet scents. At first, the only thing I could smell was the rank stench of age that came from a pre-pulse couch. Again, I breathed in more of the couch's odor and finally, I began to detect the past. Chocolate, from the cake at Dad's birthday, met my nose, accompanied by the leather of his jacket that I had given him. Briefly, I wondered if he was wearing it at that same moment. There was a faint trickling of strawberry, obviously from jam, but I had never eaten the jam while sitting on the couch. Perhaps the strawberry smell had been there from a place long ago, before I had been born. Suntan lotion, obviously from my vacation with Max, Case, and James, was buried next to the strawberry jam. Lastly, I found the hot cocoa that I had drank when Brin came back into Mom's life after twenty years. Brin. The one who had started it all. It was long continuous pattern of ups and downs, of downfalls and triumphs. Yet, I suppose, all of life is like that and there's nothing that we can do to stop it. Nothing.
Without meaning to, I drifted off to sleep, exhausted and ill rested from my excruciating night with Case. You know a man is good in bed when you lose sleep over it…doesn't matter if all they do is talk and answer the questions that come spewing forth like dogs after a bitch in heat.
While, I slept, devouring the rest that came to me, I dreamed. Dreamt of things that should have been left in the past over twenty years ago.
Mom was at Logan's house, cradling a child in her arms. She was the mom I knew, but yet she wasn't, and this factor scared me because I truly didn't know her identity. She was younger, with curly hair that had never seen on her before. Her cheeks with rosy and more rounded than the ones that she bore now. Wearing a short baby tee shirt and a tight pair of jeans, she didn't look any older than I was-eighteen-yet she criticized me for wearing such outfits.
Logan and she were involved in a friendly game of chess, even though he was losing terribly. Naturally, he was enough of a gentleman not to say anything but to take it as it came. He too, was exceedingly younger with thin silver-framed glasses and darker blond hair that rose in spikes like the ice of his glass walls. Just as she was ready to place her bishop and call "check", there was a knock at the door.
I stood off to the side, watching the scene intently, separated from Mom and Logan by his crystal cube walls. They didn't appear to notice me as they concentrated heavily on their game. Logan rubbed his hands together, complaining about the chill, while Mom agreed. The snow, he claimed, was only supposed to get worse. I felt nothing.
"I'll get it," Mom said about the knock before Logan could answer the door. Handing the baby tenderly to him, she strode over to the door, sipping a glass of purple wine that she had poured before the beginning of the chess game. She opened the door, and I saw Logan flinch as he heard the sound of the glass smashing into pieces of the floor.
"Mom!" I cried, and attempted to get past Logan. Yet, his bulky wheelchair hogged the doorframe, so I tried telling him to move a little bit faster. He appeared not to notice as his heart jumped out of safety for Mom.
"Max!" he called, worried that she might have hurt herself and began to wheel himself out there. But, having one arm occupied with whosoever baby didn't help him to move very fast. By the time he had reached the doorway leading the living room area, Mom's form had already filled in the empty doorway through which he intended to exit. She blocked me from leaving, and seemed all out oblivious to my presence. At this time, I was unaware that I was dreaming, of course, and believed her to merely be ignoring me.
"Logan," she said very blankly with a strange ghostly voice that chilled me. "There's someone here."
"For me?" he asked her.
"No," another voice answered, which caused me to prickle instinctively as I recognized the person behind the mask, and Mom moved out of the doorway, picking up the baby from Logan, and standing behind him. She cradled the mysterious child in her arms, wrapping it under a white blanket and hiding it almost from the man that came to her. "For Max."
Dad stood in the doorway, hands shoved casually into his jean pockets. His face was younger somewhat, but showed the lines of stress almost, like it had been complete torture for him to come back and see Logan. He walked with only a very slight limp. So slight that to a plain passerby, the limp would've been completely invisible, which confused me because I had never known Dad to be hurt in any way, shape or form. The black leather jacket hung sloppily off of Dad's shoulders, but was still a little bit burned from an apparent fire. Obviously, Dad hadn't the money nor time to replace it. Not surprisingly, it was still the same one that he had worn before his most recent birthday.
"You came back," Logan said evenly, but I could still hear the distaste in his voice that poisoned his tongue.
"I told Max I would." Dad stepped forward, wanting to see the child. "Is that it?" he asked, surprisingly nervous. "It". Boy, did I feel sorry for that child-being addressed as an "it" had to be kicker. Glad it wasn't me.
"Yes," Mom replied. "She is yours." Dad was stung by the fact that the baby Max held was part of his doing, but he held out his arms to the baby nonetheless. Extraordinary.
"May I see her?" With some reluctance, Mom gently laid the gurgling baby in Dad's arms. The baby thrashed its chubby legs, cooing, being the exact antithesis to Dad's emotional torment. "Oh my…" was the only thing Dad could say as he stroked the fine hair across the warm head of the baby. He looked up to see Mom staring at him. "I'm so sorry…" he began.
"Not now, Zack, not now," she said.
I tried to peer over Dad's shoulder to see the child, which resulted in his shadow obscuring the baby's face. Slouching miserably against the corner of the wall, I waited impatiently for the clues to hit me like the iron rod I knew they would.
"Why'd you come back?" Logan asked, interrupting the dynamite between Mom and Dad before a fuse was lit that needed to be avoided.
"We have to leave, now," Dad mumbled more to the baby than Mom.
"Leave?" Mom nearly yelped. "But why?"
"Lydecker. He can calculate nine months too, y'know. He's already out searching for the child as we speak. Look, Max it's not just you anymore, it's also the baby's life."
"But I-"
I tugged on Mom's sleeve, trying to get her attention like a little toddler. "Mom? You don't have to go with Dad. You never have before. Stay here. I'm here, Mom." Alas, she ignored me still.
"He's right," Logan admitted. Mom looked down at Logan, and I saw tears spring to her cocoa eyes.
"Logan, no…"
"You have to go…with Zack."
"I've got a car waiting outside," Dad stated bluntly.
"Lydecker's not going to get the baby," she assured both of the men.
"I can help," I offered, which, naturally no one heard.
"Yes, he will if he wants to. A baby can't defend itself. It doesn't know how to be quiet when there's trouble or how to fight off its enemies," Logan argued. Mom turned to Dad, and he nodded in agreement. It was the only time I believed him to agree with Logan.
"I'll leave…but it's only for the baby's safety, not mine," Mom sniffed.
"Agreed," Dad said and left to go start the car up, handing the baby back to Mom.
"Logan…" she began, on the verge of tears as she saw her life begin to crumble. This person had been there for her when Dad had abandoned her. And now, she was leaving him. As much as she didn't want to admit it, the emotional pain was stinging; I could hear the hurt in the air. Crouching down next to Logan, she clasped his hand in hers. "I'll always be here. Don't ever think I've left you."
"I know," he replied, his voice barely a whisper with his emotions. He laid one warm hand on the side of her face and gently brushed away a tear. "It's for the best," he reassured her.
"I want to believe so." Mom leaned forward and their lips brushed against each other before she let herself be taken completely away in his ocean that he had to offer her. It was the last time they would ever see each other. Looking away, I saw Dad on the street below, hot-wiring the stolen car.
As Mom and Logan pulled away, there were tears trickling down his face. He turned away from her and looked at the floor, trying not to cry as she left…possibly for the rest of their lives. Dad could be ruthless sometimes, when it came to relationships, that is.
"I'll always be here," she whispered and turned before exiting the room. Just as her hand came to rest on the doorknob, Logan called out.
"What's her name?" he asked his voice choked with the sadness that he was trying to hide.
Mom smiled slowly, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes. "I've been doing some research and I chose a name that means, 'ready for battle'." I froze, feeling the blood rush out of me in a fast bolt. I knew who the baby was. The iron rod had crashed, and I swooned with the knowledge. Naturally, I should have seen this coming sooner.
"Fair enough, what is it?"
"Alanza," Mom replied in a whisper.
I awoke to find myself alone, still, in the apartment. My body was shivering like a pre-session to a seizure, while sweat drenched me. What I had seen wasn't a dream. It was history.
