Life With The Boy Next Door

Alice woke up in an unfamiliar place, her hand pressed to the small, perfectly circular hole in the side of her neck. She tried to remember what had happened. The women had drugged her so she wouldn’t know where she was going. They’d said it made it so much harder for anyone who wanted to, to follow them and track her down.
She struggled to a sitting position and appraised her surroundings. The bedroom walls were painted a stark white and there were blank photo frames hanging haphazardly a few feet away from each other on all four walls. What photos was she supposed to put into those frames? She had no photos left; she felt a sudden pang of regret for leaving behind her collection of photos of Cale she took back when they were just kids together, and bore no heavy responsibilities on their young shoulders.
Alice slid out of bed and immediately felt the lightness in her. There was no longer a dark thing inside her womb and her stomach was once again flat. There were no stretch marks in sight. Alice walked cautiously over to a mirror standing up against one of the white walls, and stood in front of it, twisting and turning her body to see each angle. Nothing. She sighed and took a few steps back again. She felt strangely regretful, the notion that she left something precious behind swelling up inside her chest. Then she forced it out of her. They had told her that this was bound to occur: an inner battle that she would never be able to win if she let it begin. So she didn’t.
Alice turned in a circle where she stood and silently surveyed the single bed with its narrow gilt frame, the blank photo frames, the plain wood door shut tight, the empty bedside cabinet and the large, towering chest of drawers. There was no wardrobe, but the Lost Society women had commissioned for her an entirely new range of clothes, all in fairly blasé colours so that she would not catch anyone’s particular notice.
She sighed and pulled open the top, left hand drawer. She began to dress, excuses for her recent behaviour forming in her head as she began a new life all on her own.

Cale tried to leave in the middle of the next night, but as soon as he set foot on the grass outside the house, he heard the baby’s cries. He sighed sorrowfully, stole one final glance at the still dark forest, and walked resignedly back inside.
Aron’s baby nursery was plainly painted in palest blue, bordering on the colour of his beautifully strange eyes. He opened those eyes and gazed up at his father with a stare far too knowing and intelligent, too clear for a normal newborn. He watched as Cale leaned over the crib railing and observed him calmly, blinking every once in a while. Cale, too, watched his child in turn. He tilted his head to the right, and listened acutely to the whistling sound coming from Aron. A slow smile eventually unfurled across his handsome face and he nodded, satisfied.
“You’re a Storm Child” he murmured quietly. “Aren’t you?”
Aron, of course, made no reply, but his eyes seemed to confirm Cale’s realisation, the grey depths swirling around the black pupil. Cale’s own green eyes widened and for a moment or two, he was unable to think straight; he couldn’t control his own mind. He shook his head hard, refocusing himself. He stared down at little Aron, his and Alice’s son, and knew just what else he was as well. A Control. This tiny baby had the potential to be incredibly dangerous, and very volatile if he couldn’t learn to keep his temper under control. And his temper would be tested many times as he grew up. He had no mother to teach him such things as patience and sharing. Cale knew instinctively that he would raise the boy without any real morals; he would never be taught how to share or play nicely with others his own age, or those who were younger than he. But he would teach him two rather important things to carry with him throughout his lifetime: don’t miss anything, and always remember to pick on those your own size.
Cale smiled to himself and held out his hand toward the somber looking baby. Aron stuck out a hand and grabbed his index finger, forcefully pulling the digit into his mouth and sucking hard. Cale’s eyes widened yet again when he felt the tiny milk teeth digging into his flesh. Aron had been born with teeth. He shuddered. The boy was no destined to Turn into a werewolf later on, but he would possess a terrible strength that no one had ever held before him. If he ever fell in love, like Cale, he would surely drive out the one he loved. Kill her or force her away by his own hand.
He took his hand back and met Aron’s serious stare. The grey eyes began to swirl inwards again, so he turned away at once and walked back towards the bedroom door. He thought it strange that the child had no need of food. He had been existing in the world for a day and yet had seemed to need no form of sustenance at all. Oh, well. Cale shrugged and walked out, closing the door behind him. All would be figured out in good time.

There was a brisk tapping knock on the front door. Alice turned in a hurry, her eyes going wide and panic stirring in her stomach. She walked extra slowly down the hall to answer the door, after peering through the diamond side panes and seeing one of the women from the night before standing on the WELCOME doormat. Relief surging through her, Alice pulled the door open and smiled fleetingly at the young woman standing before her. She was the Italian woman who had spoken to her.
“Hello. I’m really sorry, but I don’t know if they told me your name” she said sheepishly, holding out her right hand.
The other woman took it, laughing, and then released it again.
“That’s fine. When we rescue those who are in dire need of our help, we don’t give our names until we know exactly who will be set to live near them. You will know no names except for mine, because I live down the street. You are now in Mobile, Alabama, and nobody else knows where you live except for us in the Lost Society. You’ll be safe here, and your husband won’t be able to find you. May I come in, please?”
Alice nodded and stepped aside to let her pass. She walked down the hall ahead of her and into the pristine white tiled kitchen. She hopped up onto a chair at the counter and smiled at Alice as she, too, chose a seat and swivelled to face her.
“My name is Isadora and I was born in Colorado. I fell in love with a Storm Child when I was fifteen years old…” the Italian woman told her, suddenly stopping when she saw Alice’s face.
She quirked an eyebrow and Alice blushed profusely.
“I’m sorry. But…Storm Child?” she asked, strongly perplexed.
Isadora laughed again.
“He wasn’t a child at the time, Alice. That is just what they’re called. That is their supernatural title, but they grow at a relatively normal pace, mostly just like anybody else. Except…except they aren’t just like anybody else. Storm Children can manipulate weather and can create natural disasters in the blink of an eye. And I’m not kidding. I once saw Danjou call up a tornado like nothing you’ve ever seen before. It went on for days and wrecked entire cities. I’d never seen him so angry in the years I’d known him” she continued, then paused, knowing Alice would ask the same question everyone else always asked her.
“Why was he so mad?” Alice asked predictably, her voice smaller than usual.
Isadora smiled wistfully, her gaze turning inward and vanishing somewhere into the past. She folded her hands together in her lap and straightened her shoulders.
“He was twenty, I was eighteen, and I had just told him I was carrying his baby. He was thrown into a temper the likes of which you nor I have ever seen. I haven’t seen anything like it since that morning five years ago” she replied calmly.
Alice glanced down and saw that Isadora’s fingernails were digging into her hands, leaving half moon imprints pressed into her flesh.
“You don’t have to answer me, but I can’t help asking. What happened to your baby?” she asked, speaking softly.
Isadora shook her head slowly, her eyes now closed.
“It’s okay, I understand that. My little Starre lives with her father in France, and I haven’t seen her since the day she was born. Danjou organised the Lost Society to come and get me. I did not want to go. He thought I would be safer without him, but he would not give me my baby Starre. He forced me to go without either one of them and whisked our daughter away to Paris. She undoubtedly speaks only French” she said, ending in a mere whisper.
Alice reached out and lightly laid a hand on her arm.
“I am sorry, Isadora. What is your daughter? Do you know? Did Danjou tell you?” she asked.
Isadora nodded again.
“Yes. Starre is a Phoenix. She can create and manipulate fire and flame. I don’t even know what she looks like now!” she exclaimed, starting to weep.
Alice frowned faintly at her, trying to come to terms with her next decision.
“Can I tell you something truly secret?” she asked cautiously.
Isadora nodded and choked out a semblance of an answer through her tears.
Alice breathed in deeply and opened her mouth again.
“I didn’t kill my baby. I couldn’t do it, in the end. His name is Aron and he is beautiful” she said, beginning to feel emotional herself.
But all that was swept away when Isadora lifted her head and stared at her, her tears suddenly gone. Alice all of a sudden felt very cold. Isadora stared at her with hardened dark brown eyes.
“You didn’t kill him?” she repeated, her voice getting steadily louder.
Alice shook her head, confused.
“No, I just said that. I couldn’t murder him, I just couldn’t do it!” she exclaimed, starting to panic at the fierce look on her companion’s face.
“He will be the end of us then. You were meant to kill him, Alice. That was your duty, to rid the world of poison. Now everyone will die” Isadora said darkly, her eyes focused firmly on Alice.
Alice stood up, eyes flashing as a feeling of protective authority rushed through her.
“You didn’t kill your daughter! How could anyone expect me to kill my own son?” she demanded loudly.
Isadora jumped to her feet, too. She pressed a finger to her lips, eyes wide.
“Shh! You can’t tell anyone!” she hissed urgently.
Alice folded her arms across her chest and glared defiantly at the taller woman, four years older than she.
“I’d like you to leave now, please. Even though I cannot be there physically for my son, I will still protect him if and when I can” she retorted staunchly.
Isadora smirked slightly at her and headed for the door. Once she reached it, she turned back to face Alice where she stood still in the kitchen area.
“He doesn’t need your protection, Alice V. You’re going to need his if you want to survive the War” Isadora called out.
She opened the door and slipped outside, shutting it quietly behind her.
Alice sank down onto the floor where she was and stared with blank eyes at the solid door several feet away from her, down the other end of the white corridor. Everything in this damn house was white.
What on earth had she done? Her son was the earth’s poison and she had no power to do anything about it.
Maybe, maybe…
She could still hope.