reading

Foreword

“Mrs. Blake — or Monica, if I may — please have a seat.” The impeccably attired man motioned toward a mahogany conference table in the center of the room. “I’m Marshall Goldrick, chief of the Crisis Management Team for the National Security Agency.” He flashed a credential badge that was hanging by a thin rawhide strap around his neck. The two sat down across from each other, and the man paused briefly to collect his thoughts before commencing.

“Monica…I’m sorry, but we need to transfer Hannah to a more secure facility,” Marshall stated firmly.

“More secure than this?” Monica asked in angry disbelief, as an Apache helicopter passed overhead, shaking the blinds covering the single small window in the room.

“It’s for her own protection, and we need her to be able to concentrate, without being distracted by the media or anyone else, with the proper equipment and support at her disposal.”

“You can’t take her anywhere without my consent,” Monica protested, her voice quavering. “She’s my child, in case you forgot.”

“Look, we have an executive order from the President of the United States to do this,” the chief quickly responded. “But tell me, what other choice do we have? We’ve had the best people working on this 24/7 for the past two weeks, and they’re completely baffled. We need Hannah.”

“Why is my husband being held?” Monica demanded. “Do you need him too?”

“He’s comfortable and being cared for.” Marshall lowered his head and began rubbing his temples up and down with his fingertips, trying to massage out the stress. He ran his fingers through his short, wiry hair that was losing out to gray, looked back up at her with bloodshot eyes, and pleaded for some common sense. “Monica, let’s get real. You and I both know Brian’s never going to cooperate. He’s too much of a risk to the operation. I promise you, we’ll get you on the phone with him today.”

“Seems like you’re making all the decisions just fine for my family, sir,” Monica sneered. “So what exactly do you want from me?”

“That part is simple, Monica. We want you on our side. Will you please come with me and Dr. Gordon Anderson — Hannah’s associate in the lab — to see your daughter? We want you to explain the situation to her, and tell her that a transfer is the right course of action. Hannah has to be in the right frame of mind for this, and we think you’re the only one who can ensure that.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Monica laughed condescendingly. “You’re acting like Hannah doesn’t understand the whole story here, and the part she’s playing in it. She’s already light years ahead of us on that. There’s no explaining anything to her. The fact is, you don’t need me for this. Hannah already knows exactly what’s at stake, and she isn’t about to let any emotion or person affect her thinking, not even her own mother. I could march down there, fall at her little feet, and beg her to stay or go, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. I’m sure she’s already figured out that she may have to hurt me in the short term to save my life in the long run, so she’s going to disregard any feelings or opinions I have on this, one way or the other.”

Monica halted. Her eyes strayed from the chief as she played out the likely scenario awaiting in the lab. A look of pained desperation crept across her face. “She’s going to say, ‘I have to go, Mom.’ I guarantee it. So, where are you taking her?”

“We want to station her at Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico.”

“Station her? Really? You make it sound like my daughter’s an aircraft carrier, Mr. Goldrick.”

“Please, call me Marshall. She’ll be protected in a deep underground lab there, and she’ll be 1,700 miles farther away from the sphere…or creature…or whatever the hell it is, which might give her more time to figure everything out. Time is our enemy right now, and it’s hovering over us like a vulture.”

Three loud thuds on the door interrupted the discussion, followed by a booming voice. “Come on, Goldie, move it along! We gotta roll!”

Marshall exhaled emphatically, and the two sat quietly as another Apache lumbered closely by. The room was overtaken by the clamor of whipping rotor blades and screaming twin turboshaft engines. As the amplitude of the sound waves eventually began to abate, the worry lines on the man’s forehead momentarily smoothed out as well.

“It’s funny, I remember one summer I had this job at a sub shop in my old hometown. I used to think it was so nerve-racking around lunchtime, like, oh my God we’re running low on pickles,” he mused, trying to inject humor into the conversation despite the dire circumstances. “We’ll set you up close by, so you can see your daughter if she wants to take a break.”

Monica sagged limply back into her chair and relented with a fragile, “Okay.” She knew there was no argument.

“Hey...Monica,” Chief Goldrick said sympathetically, “I’m truly sorry that the burden of an entire world is resting on your daughter’s shoulders.”

“Thank you, Marshall,” she replied with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. Then she added one final plea. “Just remind the people watching over Hannah that those shoulders are very small.”

Prologue

(Syzygy – 4 Billion Years B.C.)

The sun blazed down upon the barren, boulder-strewn stretch of beach. Waves pounded against the shore rhythmically and relentlessly, as they had for millions of years. Here, on this particular day, the scene was bustling, but devoid of consciousness. Life had not begun yet on the planet, so there was no living thing to see this place, to hear it, smell or feel it. But nature pressed on all the same. Waves of sound reverberated, and waves of light reflected, though not a single organism existed to sense or interpret them in any way. Like the ocean’s waves, the energy of these other waves bounded and bounced around blindly until finally dissipating into the collective cosmic soup.

Nature’s play proceeded along peacefully until the giant yellow orb in the sky suddenly began to change its hue. An eerie-looking dark disk, like a ravenous predator, appeared to be slowly but inexorably consuming it, altering the perfectly spherical shape. The light on the beach rapidly faded as if storm clouds were approaching. An azure sky shifted to a peculiar shade of purple, while the shimmering blue sea degraded into an angry gray. There seemed to be deliberate intent as the event unfolded. Within a brief space of time, the once-glorious fireball was reduced to a frail, dim crescent before being completely blotted out, leaving the scene in utter darkness. The sun, as if protesting the attack, projected a spectacular halo of luminescence around the jet-black vanquisher, resembling the golden mane of a proud lion. “I’m still here!” it seemed to cry out from behind the brazen behemoth.

A short time later, a hairline sliver of light peeked around one side. As it grew, the opposite-facing crescent now seemed to be repelling the intruder and pushing it away, until the glinting arc burst forth brilliantly, lavishing the landscape with dazzling radiance, and resolutely reawakening the day. The mighty globe continued to battle, driving the invader off steadily, never wavering until victory was achieved, and its grandeur was fully restored.

Once again, the sun shone down upon a shore that was completely oblivious. But for some reason, this absence of sentience would not keep.

Chapter One

Worlds Colliding

Monica reflexively jammed the toe of her stiletto onto the brake pedal as hard as she could and stiffened her slender arms. Squeezing the steering wheel, she closed her eyes and prepared for impact. But the speeding ambulance — running a red light without its sirens on — swerved and narrowly avoided hitting her pearl white Prius before streaking off.

The woman had barely opened her eyes in relief when she was rammed from behind with a thunderous boom. Her car violently jerked forward a yard or two before coming to a dead stop.

Perched and frozen in a braced position, Monica managed to relax her grip on the wheel. “Oh, dear Lord, why me?” she whimpered, her long brown hair now disheveled. Trying to regain her composure, she tucked it behind her ears and summoned the courage to look into her rearview mirror, wincing at the sight of her now popped up and mangled trunk.

Dutifully, she unbuckled her seatbelt and emerged hesitantly from her car to face the culprit. A black Jeep 4x4’s front end was jammed into her back bumper, with smoke billowing from its hood. The front windshield was partially shattered, with a spider cracked portion blocking her view of the occupant.

Monica fished into her jacket pocket for her cell phone, then looked helplessly skyward as she pictured it reclining on its charging dock back in her bedroom. Her eyes darted about the vicinity hoping to spot a good Samaritan, but this was a desolate area of Gloucester, a coastal town in Massachusetts. The only signs of life were an abandoned strip mall, and a vast, weed-covered parking lot sprawled out before a giant, dilapidated drive-in movie screen from a bygone era. All the roads leading away from the intersection lay vacant, and her heart sank at the spectacle of each one narrowing into nothingness as they receded into the distance.

Reluctantly, she made her way forward, approaching the open driver’s side window which was spilling out the bass of AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell”. A broad-shouldered man in a dark tank top was sitting there with his eyes closed, his head reposed placidly on the bucket seat’s headrest. He was mumbling a steady stream of profanity as if in a trance. An unused lap and shoulder belt hung idly by his side.

Monica checked out his smattering of freckles and curly strawberry-blond hair. A couple of facial scars and puffy under-eye bags undermined his youth. On his head was a black and gold Boston Bruins cap, knocked askew by the collision. He was covered with a mix of salt, sand, and grease, along with broken bits of glass. She backed away for a few moments, searching again in vain for another car or person, then returned her gaze inside the vehicle and mustered the gumption to speak up. “Hello?”

The driver’s eyes abruptly sprung open and he jerked upright. Turning his head left, his woozy brain was confronted by this stranger staring at him from just inches away. “You…you thtopped, all of a thudden,” he snarled, while inadvertently jettisoning two busted teeth at her.

Monica recoiled, but then leaned forward again. “Are you okay? We crashed.”

“No shit.” Grimacing, he tried to move his right leg which was contorted into a bizarre angle, while struggling to regain his wits and expel stray tooth fragments from his mouth.

“Let me get you something.”

Monica ran back to her car, grabbed a bottle of Poland Springs from the center console, and returned to the Jeep. “Here, take this.”

The driver snatched the container from her, took a swig, swished the water around in his mouth a few times, then spit it out onto the passenger floorboard, next to a rolled-up pair of rubber overalls and fishing equipment. Not in the mood for rock ‘n’ roll, he hammered the radio dial with his fist to silence it.

“You stopped all of a sudden,” he repeated firmly.

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t,” she protested. “Sorry, there was this ambulance coming right at me. Of all freaking things.”

He paused to consider that. “Brian Blake,” he said civilly, reaching across for her hand, and for the first time noticing the allure of her eyes.

“Monica Merrick,” she replied as they shook hands gently, lingering longer than would be considered customary.

“You hurt at all?” Brian asked.

“I don’t know...I might be.”

“Well, if you don’t know, then you’re probably okay.” Brian sucked in a deep breath and exhaled forcefully. “Anyhow, you look fine to me.” He positioned the shaky rearview mirror so he could see his face. It was sullied by remnants of his commercial fishing job and the accident. He removed his cap and examined the swelling bump on his forehead, more out of curiosity than concern. Brian then started pawing at his cheeks to groom himself. But he was only making things look worse.

“And I look just fine too,” he pronounced sarcastically.

“Yeah, that goose egg on your head. The thing’s huge.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“But, I mean, that’s like the biggest goose egg I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It can’t be okay.”

“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I’m sorry. But it’s unbelievable. In fact it’s….it’s actually growing as I’m watching it right now. It’s funny how it really does look like an egg.”

“Yeah, it’s hysterical,” Brian deadpanned. “Can we get off the goose egg and talk about something else, please?” He tried to put his Bruins cap back on, but quickly realized it wouldn’t fit over the ballooning swell. He chucked it over his right shoulder into the back seat.

“I see that you weren’t using your seatbelt.”

“Who are you, my mother?” Brian retorted. “What a character. How ’bout we talk about getting some help here.”

“Yes, do you have a phone? We need to call 911.”

“Nah, I’m just a lil’ dinged up. Let’s get a tow tru—, owww!” Brian shouted as pain surged through his fractured leg.

Grimacing again, he pulled out his iPhone and handed it over to Monica, then gingerly slumped his aching head back onto the headrest in frustration. “Okay…call an ambulance...but tell ’em not to try to kill anyone this time.”

Monica fiddled with Brian’s phone for a moment, while he furtively stole a glance at her bare ring finger.

“Oh, do you want to enter in your password yourself?” she asked.

“It’s 1-2-3-4.”

“That’s your password?”

“Yeah.”

“No kidding? Your password is just 1-2-3-4?”

“Yes.”

“You know, you don’t have to have a password on these phones.”

“I know that. I want one, and that’s it,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“But...but 1-2-3-4? That seems secure to you?”

“Well, it’s easy to remember,” he countered, before considering the weakness of both his explanation and his code. He shrugged. “I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Monica smiled at Brian, whose eyes were now closed again, and entered the emergency number. As the call connected, the sound waves of her voice were instantly converted into digital electronic signals by the device and transmitted at the speed of light — about 186,282 miles per second — upon radio waves to the nearest mobile phone base station in the area. A network computer was directing the information to the base station nearest the emergency receiving phone, which picked up and converted the signals back into the sound waves of Monica’s voice for the person on the other end.

The two waited in silence for help to arrive. Brian felt a prickling sensation on the side of his burly left arm, and removed a jagged shard of glass from a tattoo that read “Sue” in fancy script. A pinhead of blood bubbled to the surface.

“So, who might Sue be?” inquired Monica.

“Just a girl I was seeing.”

“Was? As in past tense? Oh, no,” Monica kidded Brian, considering this permanent declaration of love gone awry.

“I know, I know. What can I say? It seemed like a good—”

“—idea at the time.” Brian and Monica finished the rest of the sentence together.

“You gonna get it removed?”

“Nah, that’s wicked expensive, and a pain in the butt. I just gotta find myself another Sue, that’s all. Hey, what’s your name again?” Brian asked facetiously.

“Sorry, it’s still Monica,” she teased playfully.

“Guess we’re both outta luck then.”

A patrol car soon arrived, followed closely by a fire and rescue vehicle. Two EMTs hopped out of the truck and went to work extricating Brian from the wreck. Monica stood nearby giving information to a policeman, but was having a difficult time concentrating, repeatedly looking over in Brian’s direction to see how he was doing. The crew splinted his leg and strapped him to a gurney for transport. Monica excused herself from the officer and walked towards the back of the ambulance just as the medical crew was preparing to heave him into the patient compartment.

“Okay, on three...1-2-3.”

Brian’s and Monica’s eyes met as he was pushed inside, and he raised his head to keep her in view.

“Be careful, Brian. I mean, they almost have your password figured out,” she ribbed him.

He raised a hand to her in acknowledgement as the stretcher was being secured, and their eyes remained locked until the driver swung the large metal doors shut.

“Where are you taking him?” she asked.

“Gloucester Hospital. You can ride with him in back if you want.”

“Oh, no. I’m with the car he hit. I was just wondering.”

Monica watched intently as the ambulance drove off, gripped by a strange pang in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes strayed to the drive-in movie screen, solitary and forsaken, major rips visible across its long-neglected surface revealing the corroded metal skeleton beneath. She started thinking about Brian saying, guess we’re both outta luck then.

Chapter Two

Echoes (Two years later)

The ultrasound technician wrapped her right hand around an inverted tube and squeezed firmly, releasing a liberal stream of jelly onto the expectant mother’s bump.

“Sorry if this is on the cold side,” she said, pulling the wheeled display screen closer with her free hand and turning it toward her patient. “You ready to see your movie star?”

Monica grinned while looking up. “Yeah, glad I could be here for the premiere,” she replied, appreciative of the nurse’s efforts to put her at ease. What up to this point had felt like a dream was now about to become much more real, and it was hard to contain her bittersweet mixture of worry and excitement.

The screen flickered to life. Unrecognizable shadows and shapes zigzagged about as the nurse maneuvered the transducer probe, trying to get her bearings. The scanning tool emitted high-frequency sound waves, and converted the echoes that it received back into images. Monica raised her head off the pillow, squinting and straining to make out something, anything familiar. Time seemed to stretch out to match the intensity of her impatience until she finally saw the unmistakable profile of a human face grace the monitor. Her breath hitched, and she gulped hard as a flood of emotion washed over her.

“There you are,” she said softly. “Hi, baby.” She lowered her head back to the pillow while keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the screen. “I wish your daddy wasn’t at sea right now.”

“He a fisher?”

“Yeah. He’s on a week-long up in the Gulf of Maine.”

“I’ll get you some pics you can take home, Mrs. Blake,” the sonographer said as she began meticulously recording key growth measurements onto a corner of the screen. She hovered the sensor over the fetus’s skull, pausing for a few moments because the anatomy looked a bit peculiar. After documenting the atypical diameter, she moved down to explore and make notations on other organs and extremities for the doctor. “Your baby looks right on schedule, normal heart rhythm, and even ahead of the curve on brain growth, probably the next Einstein.” She zoomed out to show the entire developing body for the mother-to-be. They both watched as the baby, now at 12 weeks’ gestation, appeared to reach out towards the scanner, and check out its surroundings, moving its hands back and forth in a steady rhythmic motion.

“Looks like your baby’s measuring for new curtains in there,” the technician joked. She zoomed in on the baby’s face, which turned towards the screen, revealing two large black skeletal eye orbits. With its chin jutting forward, it almost looked like it was longingly trying to get a view of the outside world. Monica gazed into the baby’s eyes and drifted deep into them while the outside world disappeared. She found herself falling back in time, to memories of her childhood.

“Look at how beautiful those flowers are, Monica honey. Beautiful just like your mother was.”

“I don’t like them, Auntie Doris. They’re stinky,” replied seven-year-old Monica.

“No, they’re pretty, and they show how much everyone loved your mother. Here are some from your Aunt Lena too.”

Monica took stock of the multicolored floral bouquets surrounding her mother’s lifeless body sunken deep into her casket, adorned inside with white linen and lavender lace.

“See how peaceful she looks? No more pain now.”

“But I want her to wake up…wake up, Mommy!” Monica demanded.

The movie playing out in the blackness of the baby’s eyes shifted back even further in time. Monica’s petite hand was now donning an oversized oven mitt, and she was pushing a spatula into a slot on the side of an Easy-Bake Oven. A plume of grayish-black smoke emerged out of the opening as she delicately retrieved the mini silver baking tray upon which her prized creation sat.

“Be careful. It’s hot,” her mother Sarah cautioned, fighting the urge to intervene.

“I made it all by myself,” Monica boasted.

The lopsided cake was sagging and scorched on one side. On the other side, a very unfortunate golf-ball-sized air bubble covered with a thin, doughy membrane had developed. Assorted vegetables could be seen protruding randomly all around it.

“I can’t wait to try it!” her mother exclaimed, feigning excitement. “I’ve never seen a cake that had lettuce before. What a brilliant chef you are.”

“Dig in, Mommy,” Monica gleefully encouraged.

Sarah grabbed a butter knife and carefully positioned it above the cake so as to remove the smallest piece possible without offending her daughter. She began to slice, applying the necessary elbow-grease to make her way downward through some carrots and green beans inside and guided the piece onto her plate.

“Oh, this is so delicious,” she said, trying to chew and fight the gag response at the same time, wondering how swallowing was ever going to be possible. “And it tastes nice and...salty?”

“Well, I couldn’t reach the sugar bowl, so I used salt instead…and some pepper too,” the youngster explained with self-satisfaction. “Should I maybe put this in the Town Festival bake-off?”

“You simply must.”

Just then the bubble popped with a resounding snap, releasing a steaming jet of dry flour into the air.

“Hey! My cake just tooted, Mommy,” Monica cried out, giggling with delight.

Her mother grabbed the spatula, slid it under the cake and began moving it up and down, pretending the cake was talking to them in a low, raspy voice. “Sor-ry I too-ted, Mo-ni-ca. It won’t hap-pen a-gain. Can I still be in the ba-king con-test?”

The shaking caused another, larger, festering air pocket deep within the cake to suddenly explode outward with a bang, sending the assorted filling airborne, including a chunk that attached itself to the mother’s forehead. They howled with laughter.

Sarah pretended to be angry, pointing her finger at the cake menacingly while scolding it. “That’s it. You’re grounded, Mr. Cake. No bake-off for you.” The pair laughed as they fell in towards each other in a cloud of flour.

The technician jerked Monica back to the present by abruptly removing the sensor, and applying some towelettes to clean off her stomach. As the screen went dark, Monica closed her eyes and felt the tension of a mother’s worry melt away, at least for now. The sonographer turned away briefly, pulled a notepad from a hip pocket on her lab coat, and hastily jotted down, “Baby Blake/brain issue?” She replaced the notepad in her lab coat for the afternoon consult with the doctor.

“You can see the doctor now. At the next visit, if you want, we should be able to let you know the sex of the baby.”

Monica thanked the woman, then announced politely, but with conviction, “Oh, it’s a girl.”

Chapter Three

Simon Says

Monica struggled up the circular flight of stairs with two oversized bags of groceries, one at each hip, book-ending her burgeoning belly. She kicked at the door that was the back entrance of the duplex apartment and bellowed, “Brian!”

Monica and her husband had lived in the modest but comfortable home since their wedding a year before. They rented the second floor, and a couple with twin girls lived on the first. Brian came jogging into the kitchen, swung open the door, and scooped up the bags from his wife’s full arms.

“I got ’em. Jeez, you’re gonna put yourself into labor, honey,” he cautioned.

“Good, I don’t want to be pregnant anymore.”

“Almost there. So, how were the pee-wees today?”

Monica had been teaching third grade at one of the town’s elementary schools for the past few years. She loved the job and the kids, and usually had at least one amusing anecdote to share with her husband at the end of each workday.

“They were alright. Jack was a charmer again. He went up to Mya who was wearing a sleeveless blouse and said, ‘You’re exposed,’ which freaked her out. Mya said, ‘I am not! You don’t even know what that means.’ So then Jack comes marching up to me and says, ‘Mya’s exposed, isn’t she?’ So I guess that was good, we all got to learn about the word exposed. I just hope they don’t go home and tell their parents.”

Brian chuckled. “I just hope you’re exposed tonight, sexy.”

“Oh, please, Bri’. I look like a Volkswagen Bug.”

“I don’t care. I love cars.”

Monica playfully swatted him. “Yeah? Well, this one’s in the shop.”

She became still for a moment and peered downward. “Woah, that was a big one.”

The baby was kicking again. The couple hurriedly made their way through the dining room to the living room. Monica lay down on her back on a loveseat and pulled up her cardigan to reveal her now almost full-term tummy. They waited for more movement, but nothing happened. Monica pushed down on her belly button that was now flat from the pressure built up behind it. They waited. Suddenly her belly button popped back towards her.

“Wow, Babycakes is saying hello!” she said. “Don’t go to sleep, little baby. I want to play with you,” Monica pleaded, imitating a child, and then she poked at her belly button two times in rapid succession.

They both watched as Monica’s belly button pushed back out two times at the exact same pace.

“That’s funny,” Brian said. “The baby copied you.” He poked her belly button himself two times, and it was instantly mimicked by the baby. “What the—! Are you making it do that, Monica?”

“No, I swear that’s not me…that’s Babycakes!”

Kneeling at Monica’s side, Brian repositioned himself to more carefully check it out. He again pushed down twice firmly and slowly, and once again the belly button pushed out twice at the exact same speed and pressure. He then pushed down three times in quick succession, and the baby responded in kind. Next, he tried pushing down four times, fast on the first two, but slower on the last two. The baby repeated the same pattern precisely. Brian sat back onto his heels, staring at his wife’s stomach with a perplexed expression. Finally, he mustered some words. “Monica, I don’t know, but I think this baby’s ready to come out.”

Chapter Four

Tempest

“1, 2, 3...Puuuuuuush! 1, 2, 3…Puuuuuuush!”

The Blakes’ midwife Zoe clasped Monica’s right hand and pushed her upper body forward. Brian assisted from the other side with grit in his eyes.

“Still not the progress we want,” Zoe declared. “The baby’s head is just too big, and it’s not descending. I recommend we move ahead with our hospital transfer plan at this point.”

Monica closed her eyes. Beads of sweat were running down her contorted face, which was partially obscured by clumps of long, dark hair. After 12 valiant hours of active labor, her dream of an all-natural home birth, complete with scented candles, mood music, and the comfort of her familiar room, was to be replaced by a harsh reality.

“Alright,” Brian said sternly, “that’s it, let’s move.” He angled toward his wife’s blanching face. “Don’t worry, honey, we’ll get through this, and have our baby really soon.”

The three had planned meticulously for this possible turn of events, and it was only a matter of minutes before they were hustling their way out to the car, fighting a windblown rainstorm in the dark. With Brian driving and the midwife sitting in the backseat with Monica, they began their journey on the snaking roads that led to Gloucester Hospital.

“Pleeeease, no red lights,” begged Monica before crying out as another contraction seized her body in its viselike grip.

Zoe tended to her patient, while Brian focused determinedly on navigating the route as quickly as he could. Monica happened to glance out the window as they passed through the intersection where fate had brought the couple together just two and a half years earlier. A few minutes later, the combination of exhaustion and a pain injection lulled her away from the turmoil, and she sank quietly into the soothing fabric of her seat.

Her respite was short-lived, however, as she was thrust into a recurring nightmare that had plagued her ever since hearing the tragic story of Brian’s father vanishing at sea. Monica found herself all alone on the open ocean, aboard a sailboat in a nor’easter. She watched the white-capped swells approaching one by one, heaving her upward toward the inky clouds before falling away, causing the boat to dive downward into the churning troughs below. Sinister spindles of lightning sprang out at her like fiery spider legs. Piercing thunderclaps followed. She felt the wind and torrential rain beat against her face, and could taste the salty seawater on her lips.

Tightly gripping a drenched rope that was hanging down from a tall mast, she squinted ahead in a futile search for light, or a gap in the clouds that might allow the sun’s rays to shine down on her, but there was only darkness. Then, from off in the distance, through the raging tempest, she heard the faint sound of a voice breaking through. It was unmistakably human, but muffled by the pounding waves crashing down and a shrill wind whipping the mast. The voice became progressively louder until Monica could finally make it out as a phrase repeated over and over again. She struggled to hear, turning to the left and right, and shaking her head to clear the water out of her ears. Then with a momentary calm following the crash of a mammoth wave, coinciding with a brief lull in the gale-force gusts, she finally understood. It was a young child, reassuring her. “Mom, don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

Monica opened her eyes to a big red EMERGENCY sign. Within seconds, hands were all over her, guiding her out of the backseat and into a wheelchair. She hated that she was now shifting from an active participant in the birth of her child to an observer, but most important to her was the health of her baby, and a caesarian at this point was unavoidable.

Soon the doctor was peering over the curtain that obscured Monica’s view of the surgical procedure. He raised her baby up, happily announcing…

“It’s a girl!”

Chapter Five

Jigsaw

The delivery room fell strangely quiet as the new mother first laid eyes on her child. Monica was physically exhausted after the long labor and eventual surgery, and triumphant tears poured out at the sight of her little girl. Although wet, and splotchy in places, the infant appeared healthy. Yet, despite her baby having no signs of distress at all, one concern gnawed at Monica. Why isn’t my baby crying? Don’t newborns always cry right after birth?

The umbilical cord was severed by the doctor, and a nurse swaddled the newborn in a warm towel and brought her over to her mother, positioning the baby to rest high on Monica’s chest. The new parents stared adoringly at their daughter. She had a wispy tuft of golden blond hair atop a head that was noticeably larger than most newborns, but not to the point of looking abnormal. With eyes wide open, she was completely alert, as she had been since the instant of her appearance into the world.

Brian leaned over and carefully placed his brawny arms around his wife and child. “I’m so proud of you, honey. You did it. Just look at her.”

“You made us wait, Babycakes, didn’t you?” crooned Monica. “Now, you’re Hannah, okay?”

The new mother shifted towards the doctor. “Is it alright she’s not crying?”

“Totally fine, Monica. Congratulations,” he reassured her before beginning the suturing process. “She’s got excellent color and response. You have a beautiful, healthy baby.”

Hannah surveyed everything in her sight with acute interest, shifting her eyes side to side, up and down, never stopping at a single object for more than an instant. The world was comprised of numerous fuzzy things of different size, quality, and texture. Some of the objects had moving parts, which caused a vibration in her ears that she could interpret. Up to this point these sounds had always been muffled and drowned out by the rush of gurgling water and a rhythmic thumping. But now, the sounds were far more crisp and easy to distinguish. She was well accustomed to the feel of the world around her, physical pressure and pain, and the ability to move her limbs and fingers at will. However, she was now bombarded with sensations wildly foreign to her.

One brand-new experience for Hannah was the rushing of air into and out of her lungs, which occurred whether or not she was thinking about it. Instinctively she gagged on mucus in her throat, and the reflex caused a sound to emanate from her mouth. She quickly learned that by expelling air in combination with tightening her throat she could amazingly generate her own noises.

Her brain was a parched sponge, absorbing every single sensory input, every experience, sorting the details, and storing them permanently. It was as if someone had dumped a 10,000-piece jigsaw puzzle into a big pile in front of her, while offering no clue as to what the assembled picture would be.

Hannah didn’t know why, but she felt there was something very special about the two glistening dark orbs, arranged symmetrically on the object close to her head. She tried hard to focus her blurry eyesight on them. A thin, semi-circular shape hung above each one, and this intrigued her. Then from a hole underneath these shining circles came the most pleasant sound she had ever heard, as Monica began talking tenderly to her baby.

Brian pulled out his iPhone to take pics and videos of his new family.

“So perfect. Look at the little fingers.”

Hannah’s eyes darted towards Brian as he spoke, staring intently at the thing that was interrupting her mother with a louder and deeper noise. She recognized the similarity of these two large objects nearest her, each having the same characteristics — two eyes, two eyebrows, nose, and mouth.

“Happy birthday, Hannah,” he said, gently squeezing one of her fragile hands. “March 16th will always be your big day.”

“That means she’s a Pisces like you, Brian. The sign of the fish.”

The nurse was reluctant to interrupt the family, but she needed to attend to the newborn checklist. With the promise she’d return Hannah after a few minutes, she took the baby over to another area of the operating room. The infant was wiped down with a towel and warm water, and her temperature, heart rate, breathing, reflexes, and skin tone were evaluated and found to be normal. The nurse then administered eye drops intended to prevent infection, which caused Hannah’s eyes to sting and her vision to become even more blurry. The child was not happy about this at all. As part of routine metabolic screening, the nurse then pricked her heel to get a drop of blood. Hannah glared at the gigantic thing hunched over her that had caused her pain, and she wanted to go back to the other entities.

After spending a long, peaceful stretch in the arms of her mother, and getting her first experience with nursing, which she took to with ease, it was time to go to the nursery so that her mother could get some rest. Still wide-eyed and feeling no urge or need to cry, Hannah was wrapped in a fresh blanket and placed in a plexiglass bassinet on casters. Her head was fitted with a pink baby cap, of a size more typical for a month-old baby, and she was rolled into a different room with other babies lying in bassinets around her.

Chapter Six

Experimentation

Hannah lay in the maternity ward nursery on her tummy looking out the side of her bassinet while replaying all of her experiences thus far outside of the womb. She noted that she had heard particular noises more than once, such as, “han-uh,” “mon-i-kuh,” “sheez,” and “bay-bee,” as well as the closely related ones, “yoo” and “yohr.” She repeated all these sounds over and over in her mind, until eventually a nurse came to return her to her mother’s room to be fed.

Monica and Hannah remained in the hospital for five days as Monica recovered from her caesarian. During this time, Hannah’s unusual behavior wasn’t easily discernable to her mother because this was her first child and she wasn’t experienced with the subtle differences between how an ordinary newborn would be acting compared to her daughter. But to the nurses, it was obvious. For example, Monica had assumed that the baby was sleeping during her daily stays in the nursery, but the nurses had all noticed, and even whispered amongst themselves, that none of them had ever witnessed Hannah Blake sleeping. Nor had they ever seen her truly crying. The only sounds of displeasure she had ever voiced seemed to be a deliberate grunt or holler, to object to something, or to ask for something. For example, if the nurses rolled her onto her stomach, thereby limiting the view of her surroundings, she might grumble until she was turned back. Immediately after wetting or filling her diapers, she would feel uncomfortable, and would begin to whimper, alerting those around her that it was time for her to be changed. But to the nurses, it always sounded more like she was mimicking crying. They also thought it highly odd that the child’s eyes appeared to be tracking movements of people and objects on the other side of the room, since the primary focus of newborns was only in the range of about 15 inches.

Meanwhile, Hannah was trying to make the most of every second of consciousness in her new environment. One morning she found herself in the nursery inspecting the inside of her plexiglass bassinet when another one was wheeled right next to hers. In it was a smallish entity facing her, wearing a pale blue cap. He was positioned on his stomach, with his eyes partially open. Hannah was captivated and tried to vocalize to get his attention. “Uhhh, uhhh, uhhhh!” she groaned, but his eyes just sluggishly closed to Hannah’s profound disappointment.

When Hannah was around the other larger entities she usually kept completely silent, because this was her optimal opportunity to learn from observing and listening. Then, when in her bassinet in the nursery, shut off from conversation and most visual stimuli, this was her time to review and ponder all the clues to the mysteries she was trying to solve.

Something of interest to Hannah was how things kept changing size. She observed that an object standing still remained the same size, but as soon as it moved, it either grew larger or smaller. And the faster something moved, the quicker it would change size. She also noticed that even if objects were stationary, but she was in motion, they would change size. It was fascinating to her that objects possessed these size-changing qualities.

Although it was virtually impossible for her to secure an intellectual foothold regarding her surroundings at this stage, she was still managing to win tiny toeholds of knowledge with each passing hour of consciousness.

Towards the end of her hospital stay, while lying alone in the nursery, Hannah was experimenting with her personal instruments, using her throat, lips, tongue, and the roof of her mouth to completely change the sound of air being forced out through her vibrating vocal chords. She was delighted to realize this was exactly what the entities were doing, just in a far more complex way. The baby found that by closing her mouth, she could also force air out the two orifices at the base of her nose, but discovered there was no useful way to change the sound in any way beyond a hum, so she gave up on that as a means of communication.

Using her own primitive system, Hannah was keeping a tally of the number of times that she had been wheeled in from the nursery to see Monica since she had seen light. She figured out that when she was in a different location, that special person did still exist, but was simply residing in another realm of space, outside of her field of vision.

An odd health episode occurred during the baby’s final night in the hospital. While alone and unattended in the nursery, Hannah’s body suddenly went limp. Her eyes became fixed and then rolled up until all that was visible were the whites. Then, her head began to lightly vibrate with her gums rubbing together. The muscles around her temples tightened, and there was a slight outward bulging of the fontanels, the membranous gaps in an infant’s skull. After about 90 seconds, she returned to normal. A nurse stopped over her shortly thereafter and casually readjusted her cap before moving on.

The following morning as Monica and Brian were packing up their belongings in her room and preparing for the ride home, Hannah already knew that the sound “mon-i-kuh” meant the entity Monica, and “bry-un” meant Brian. She knew that these two entities — people — cared about her, and she stared keenly at them while being belted into her portable car seat on the hospital floor, a distinct smile on her angelic face.

Chapter Seven

Homecoming

The older model car crept along the upward sloping driveway, heading toward the back of the Blakes’ duplex. It edged into its intended parking spot, and the engine shut off. Monica was in the back sitting beside Hannah, who was strapped into her car seat. Her head was secured in a soft, yellow, foam halo that ran from one shoulder to the other. For extra support, Monica had added a U-shaped neck pillow. She had also wedged a baby blanket between Hannah’s tiny torso and the side of the car seat to further safeguard her tiny child. Hannah just sat there, pinned. Knowing that these two people cared about her, she wondered why they weren’t letting her move anymore. Brian assessed the scene in the rearview mirror and considered the overprotective trappings to be comical.

“Jeez, are we taking our kid home or blasting her off into orbit? She looks like the first baby in space. Anyways, we’re home,” he said with satisfaction.

The new dad jumped out of the front seat and opened up the back door. He waited impatiently as Monica completed the lengthy process of extracting Hannah from her car seat, cautiously removing the various supports, latches, and belts before removing the child so delicately that Brian couldn’t resist teasing again.

“Is this a baby or a giant egg?”

“Just handle with care, buddy-boy,” Monica replied as she passed Hannah off to Brian. She grabbed a bag of baby care giveaways from the hospital and began gingerly making her way out of the car.

“You okay gettin’ out, honey?”

“Yeah, I can do it. Being home’s a painkiller. Oh, balloons!”

The Blakes’ downstairs neighbors, the Silvas, had tied pink balloons to the railing of the back deck, and hung a colorful handmade ‘Welcome Home’ banner, complete with a backwards “L” and five exclamation points. Tony and Marie, along with their identical five-year-old twins, Leah and Sophia, and their aging mongrel dog “Pudge,” emerged from the rear entrance they shared with the Blakes to greet them.

“Congratulations,” gushed Marie, giving Monica an extra gentle hug, well aware of what it felt like to be only five days out from a C-section.

“Hi, everybody,” said Monica warmly. “Thanks so much. You did an awesome job on that sign, girls. It’s so pretty! It’s nice to be welcomed back.”

“She awake?” Marie asked, lowering her voice to a whisper.

“Yeah, in fact it seems like she’s always awake,” Monica said as she pulled back a portion of the pink blanket that was shielding Hannah’s face.

“You’ll be awake a lot more too,” chimed in Tony with a laugh.

“Ohhhh, she’s beautiful,” Marie cooed, “and she already has some hair.”

“Good going, man,” said Tony, slapping Brian good-naturedly on the back. “You’re a daddy now. Welcome to the daddy club.”

“Yeah, I’m signed up for life.”

“We wanna see too!” pleaded one of the twins.

“Hey, girls, this is our Hannah,” Brian said as he lowered her down so they could see the baby better.

“Hold the dog, Tony,” Marie warned.

Tony grabbed Pudge’s collar to keep him back. The dog fought and whined against being restrained, trying to get closer to Hannah, panting loudly with his tongue dangling out wildly.

“Good dog, Pudge. Easy boy!” Tony ordered firmly.

The group continued chatting for a few minutes, while Hannah was deep in thought. The world was incredible to her, even though her brain was struggling to sync itself with the visual stimulation entering her eyes. Normally newborns require a few months to perceive depth, so they can only focus on objects in close proximity. And usually it requires several months of life to be able to distinguish and appreciate color. This is not because the eyes themselves don’t have the physical ability to see depth and color at birth, it’s because the brain and eyes need to learn to work cooperatively to develop these skills. But Hannah was already making significant progress, and she found herself overwhelmed by the beauty of her mother’s flower garden, which was ushering in the New England spring with a cluster of patchwork pansies.

Still, the child was bewildered by almost everything she saw. She noticed that many things around her came in twos. People had two eyes, two ears, and two nostrils. Monica had two nipples. Looking at the rear of the Silvas’ car, she noticed that object had two eyes as well. Now observing the identical twins dressed in matching outfits and hair, she wondered if people also came in twos. Hannah was curious about the humongous empty expanse stretching across the entire view above her head. What was the super bright orb stuck in there, that made her eyes hurt? And what the heck was the story with the strange entity below completely covered in hair? There was a lot to figure out.

“Let us know if you need anything,” Marie said as the conversation wrapped up. “We’re here.”

entrance.

Brian had earlier removed the remnants of the failed home birth, thinking their joyful homecoming might be spoiled by its memory. All the midwife’s medical refuse had been trashed, and he had scraped the candlewax off the nightstand and bureau in their bedroom. The new age music discs were now stacked on top of the CD rack, and he’d thrown the soiled sheets and towels into a laundry bag to deal with later. On his daughter’s first day home, he proudly carried Hannah into the master bedroom and laid her down in the center of the king-size sleigh bed. The new mother and father stood back, gazing at their baby in silence and awe. She seemed so tiny and helpless, nestled into the giant sea of their down comforter. Hannah stretched out her itty-bitty arms as far as they would go, arched her back, and let out a mighty yawn. Then she returned their stare.

“We’re parents, Brian,” said Monica, admiring the miracle they had created.

“Yeah….so what do we do now?” he asked.

Monica and Brian looked at each other, and started giggling like teenagers.