Firstliners

Nicolas Beau Cuifler Part 2

A memory tugged at the edges of conscious thought.

He leaned until his forehead came in contact with the window. The glassy material -- it wasn't glass, true glass, just a thick transparent material -- cool on his skin. He looked down -- or at least what he perceived to be down -- at the blackness below. It goes on forever, endlessness nothing.

Nicolas stepped away from the window in disbelief. "Nothing," he said aloud, "space. This can't be real: A spaceship. No. There are Sci-Fi movies and books and stuff, but none of that was ever real."

Unremembered memories plagued his subconscious: eating away at his consciousness like parasites.

"Where am I?" He asked the empty corridor as he turned to run. Where he would -- could go – go. He didn't know, but he had to get away from this insanity.

He stopped short when he saw her again. She stood there, not twenty feet away, smiling. She started to gyrate, swiveling her hips, every movement an enticement, begging him to come to her, offering herself completely.  Fear gripped his heart; squeezing and crushing in a tight fist. The air bore the weight of his fear, so heavy he could barely draw it into his mouth and into his lungs. She dipped and swirled her hips, stepping forward with fluid ease. Coming toward him: green eyes locked on Nicolas like a vise, never letting him out of her sight. Nicolas turned trying to get the demon woman out of his mind, but pain seared into his brain. The air rushing past his vocal cords; ripping a scream of agony along his throat, driving out the little air remaining in his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut in a failed attempt to push away the pain, then turned away.

Minutes later when the pain subsided, Nicolas’ eyes slowly fluttered opened.  The white jumpsuit man stood staring curiously down at him. "I…" before Nicolas could finish, the white jumpsuit man put a silver gun to Nicolas' neck. There was a thump as the anesthetic shot into Nicolas' blood stream. Darkness enfolded Nicolas again.

* * *

The storm raged.

Beau sat on the window seat staring into the darkness: waiting. Beau felt her presence behind him first, and then -- in the reflection of the glass -- he saw her silhouette ripple and glide from behind. He turned. She stood in the hall staring in at him with those beady green eyes. He hated her eyes; they seldom moved, and when they did usually they moved independently of each other – it’s creepy. He resumed his vigil of waiting expectantly for his parents to arrive.

"Supper is ready." She cooed in her squeaky voice.

"I'll wait until they get here. I'll dine with mother and father. Please make sure there are enough place settings for them, Miss. Mainyu. You can go." Beau said imperiously.

"But I've spoken with Mr. Trytsana; he said your parents wouldn't be here in time for dinner. You're to sup without them." Miss. Mainyu said coolly.

"I shan't."

Beau watched her reflection. He heard her softly cross the carpet, her reflection made her seem to glide across the floor. Slowly she closed the distance between them. Beau watched as her silhouette moved closer until he imagined feeling her body heat radiating outward. Sweat beaded on his back beneath his pajamas.

"You really should mind your elders," she said.

Beau wasn't sure if the menace he detected was genuine or of his own construct. He decided it didn't matter. He faced her.

"If I must," he tried to be brave while matching her glare, but those eyes of hers won out as they always did. He lowered his head skirting around her and out the door.

"Your food on the kitchen table…as always," she yelled after him, her distinctive cackle - like the hollow echoing caw of a crow across a lonely cornfield - followed.

The next day a granite sky continued to drop marble-sized balls of rain punctuated by whizzing pellets of ice. Beau stood on the porch. The rain couldn't reach him, but he still slid the tiny book beneath his windbreaker. The wall of water fell just beyond the eave, but the wind caught errant ice pellets with increasing repetitiveness, pelting Beau's face.

The screen door squeaked as Miss. Mainyu said, "They say it’s a tropical storm. Agnes they're calling it. I don't know why a tropical storm would be so far north, in Pennsylvania."

She looked at Beau, he quickly obverted his eyes. "Why haven't they gotten home?" Beau looked down the driveway to route thirty. "You said they would be here by morning." Her hard stare bore into Beau; he refused to look.

Beau went inside never looking at Miss Mainyu, looking down, following the porch's knotty pine planks. The wind banged the screen door against the door jamb. He stopped, looking back through the screen, will she say something about not holding the door? She didn't even turn to look, continuing to stare at the rain.

He hung his slicker on the hook of the Coat Tree. Beau sat in his favorite chair; the wooden rocker his mother favored. He didn't sit on the window bench, she might be looking. So he picked the next best thing. He could still see route thirty. The leathered cushions crackled as he rocked. Then the screen door opened.

She stood in the archway to the foyer, staring at him. "Maybe you should take a nap. You've been awake since five."

"I'm fine. I'm waiting until they return," Beau said with certainty.

"Well you'll be tired if they do arrive. How will you stay awake?"

"What do you mean, if they do arrive?"

"It was just a figure of speech. The storm this bad, driving such a long way, choosing to fly into Philadelphia's airport; really, anything could happen." She smiled at him. Beau thought, hoped, she was trying to be reassuring. Beau couldn't be sure.

"What did Mr. Trytsana say last night?"

"I've told you six times already," she said imperiously.

"Tell me again," Beau said looking out at the road. Several cars whizzed by on a road disappearing beneath a growing puddle of water. Beau wondered whether they could get to the driveway when his parents finally arrived. The Codorus Creek, that bordered their property in the rear, flooded during the slightest of drizzles. Although they never worried, the house sat high on a hill. But if it continued raining this hard it would be much worse; most likely it has already breeched its banks.

Miss Mainyu let out an exasperated sigh, "Fine. He said, ‘the flight had been delayed. They'll be landing this morning about ten.’ Mr. Trytsana rented a room."

"Father told me it's a four hour drive from Philadelphia. They should be here by now." Beau looked at her -- her left eye bore into him, while the right eye floated slowly around its socket then stopped, locking on him like a missile finding its target. Beau recoiled: cowering in the thick leather cushions.

"Surely you've taken the storm into account," she said, with eerie calmness. Beau just stared at her. "You see Beau," she slowly stepped into the living room, "with a storm this strong, visibility is severely hindered. I'm sure Mr. Trytsana can't see more than two feet beyond the front bumper." She stepped slowly towards him, "they will be driving very slow. A turtle's pace, probably. That alone will double the time, wouldn't you agree?" She leaned over him, cheap perfume wafting into his face.

"Where are my parents?" Beau asked, trying to muster his courage but not being successful.

"You ask as if I've done something to them," she flashed bright white teeth. "Even though I have been here with you," then her expression hardened, "here babysitting you," she straightened suddenly looking out the window.

Beau followed her gaze; thinking that she heard a car in the driveway. When he looked, the driveway was muddy, becoming a rivulet, but otherwise empty.

"Your tone is laced with accusation," she said, still looking towards the window, "I'm sure I won't be receiving any thanks for keeping you safe these last days." She turned and strolled from the room.

"Not likely," Beau mumbled.


By eight o'clock Beau had fallen asleep in the chair. When he awoke to the darkness of his room, he only vaguely remembered Miss. Mainyu laying a blanket over him and being carried to his room…he sat up in bed…by a man. Beau ripped the covers back and leapt to the floor. He ran out the door and stopped at the rear stairway, which led down to the kitchen; where he heard the voices. Beau was about to rush downstairs until he recognized the voices: Miss Mainyu and Mr. Trytsana. Beau crept down the stairs and into the hall: watching and listening.

"So where are they?" She asked, her voice hushed.

"Bumping up against the dam by now, or caught in its workings." Mr. Trytsana said absently between slurping sounds.

"The Conowingo dam, that's in Maryland. I guess with this storm you're probably right." She said conversationally.

"I am." He said.

"Where did you do it?"

"Over by Columbia, like we discussed."

"Good."

"What's next?" Mr. Trytsana asked.

"The boy's initiation," she said.

"Initiation, what're you on about?" He said in his weird accent. Beau's mother said Mr. Trytsana grew up in Hong Kong, that's why he talked like that.

"The boy is fourteen now. Its time," she said.

"For what?” Mr. Trytsana pressed.

"Don't fret; I'll take care of it." She got up from the kitchen table, "You keep an eye on the creek out back. We've worked too hard to get what's coming to us, and nobody's going to take it away: Including Mother Nature. Go." She commanded as she took the bowl from Mr. Trytsana.

Beau knew about the flooding. Their bungalow was the largest house in the area, which really didn't mean much since there were only about forty houses in the village below. From their back porch -- which was really their front porch too, and side for that matter, since it rapped around the house -- they could see the village of Highmount and the mouth of the Codorus Creek where it emptied into the Susquehanna River. The village, located at a much lower elevation than their house, sat on the opposite bank of the Codorus facing the Susquehanna. The only thing separating the village from the river was a seldom used set of railroad tracks: Beau new the tracks well, he often played along them, walking for hours, the water flowing along majestically only a few feet below.

Flooding was the village's biggest fear; ever since the news started circulating about Agnes, it was all anyone talked about, the great flood of '33. How it nearly wiped out everything. Even mother said Grams and Gramps watched as their house broke apart and was washed away by the Susquehanna. So he knew about flooding. But what did she mean by initiation?

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Weeks ago, he had been walking north on the tracks. He was less likely to run into anyone going north fewer people; Wrightsville lay to the south. Beau preferred to be alone. The farther he got from the house the more at home he felt. He loved his family. He just felt uncomfortable at times: especially since she arrived. Beau's mother relied more and more on Miss Mainyu to Beau's great dismay: leaving him in her care for hours, now days, at a time. Beau's only solace, the times when he could walk the tracks along the shore.

A cat screamed. Looking around Beau saw the thing down along the shore near the water tethered to a piece of driftwood. Why would someone do that? Beau made his way down the steep slope to the edge. The cat meowed loudly: looking up at him with pleading eyes. Beau stared at the cat with vague interest. Then he placed a hand on the cat's head. The cat pressed its head into Beau's palm. Beau cupped it tightly and shoved the cat's face under the water.

When the cat stopped struggling, Beau stood, watching with renewed interest. The cat floated serenely. Beau pulled a small Kodak brownie from his back pocket, held the camera to his eye, and snapped a picture; then he smiled the innocent smile of a boy who just discovered a new and amazing toy. Returning to the top of the bank, he looked down at the floating dead cat; and smiled again.

Then she was there, "I've been walking for an hour."

Beau whipped around, drowning with fear. How? She approached, passed me, without me noticing or hearing? She wasn't there a minute ago. Was she hiding somewhere? But I would’ve heard the bushes rustle. Did she see me kill the cat? "Why are you out here?" Beau asked nastily.

"I’ve come looking for you. What were you doing?"

Miss Mainyu's right eye floated in its socket towards the river. I wonder if she can see the cat. She stood to the north of him about ten feet away, the bushes at least waist high. No she can't, it’s impossible.

"It's hot; I was just getting my feet wet," Beau answered tartly.

"Well, I don't want you tracking mud into the house. I've just done the floors today." She stepped from the bushes and walked briskly past him back toward the house. "Your mother wants you home," she ordered, throwing the command over her shoulder.

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Beau lay remembering this when the bedroom door slowly opened. Yellow slivers of light snaked into the dark room; Beau knew it was time for the ‘initiation,’ whatever that meant. Miss Mainyu walked lightly to the bed. Beau wanted his dad, wanted him to stop her, it didn't matter what she was about to do, just stop her.  She came closer; he shrank deeper into the covers. She pulled the blanket back gently, and then slid in beside him.

Then, to his horror, he realized, she's not wearing clothes. She's warm; he felt a sudden tingle between his legs. Beau moved away. She caught him, pulled him close. Beau felt a surge of excitement when her supple breast pressed against his boyish chest. Before he could stop her she forced him into her; wrapping one of her legs around his waist. He felt hot; but broke into a cold sweat. His hips moved against his will as she pulled him closer and deeper. She gyrated. He matched her rhythm; until he convulsed.

Then she said, "Now you are a man."

* * *

Nicolas leapt from the cot; tumbling to the cold floor. His head was full of forgotten memories and unwanted thoughts. Crazy things floated in and out of his consciousness. Things like physical and mental abuse, rapes and beatings, fear and loathing, people in pure white suits, men with futuristic sci-fi medical apparatus, hallucinations, dead people, murdered boys, and black void -- space. Nicolas tried to beat the craziness from his mind with clenched fists, "what's happening," he screamed. "Why are you doing this to me?"

Nicolas was still sitting naked on the cold floor when the Star Trek door swooshed open, and the man in the white jumpsuit walked through with two identically dressed assistants. "We have been monitoring you more closely since your escape three days ago," white jumpsuit man said, as he walked briskly over to Nicolas' cot and sat. "Your neural activity has been nothing les then astounding. I can only suspect that you were having very vivid dreams. Is this true Nicolas?"

Nicolas stared at the man. A thought popped into his head. No a name, a strange name, but a name. This man's name, "Nylon, Nylon Myers, Is that you name?"

Nylon's face lit up. "Yes it is, Nicolas. It is. Can you remember anything else, anything at all?"

Nicolas thought hard. It hurt to think. It gives me a fucker of a headache. "Death," Nicolas looked up at Nylon: like a child wanting praise from an adult. "I remember so much death, my parents, my nanny Miss Mainyu, our butler Mr. Trytsana," tears fell from his eyes, splashing on the cool skin of his legs. "I remember being abused and raped as a teen. I remember killing animals. I remember the first, last and all the times between when I committed murder. I remember the moment when Michelle, the woman who murdered me, died. I remember dying. I remember my own death.” I’m bordering on insanity. This is crazy. I’m hysterical; he thought then screamed, “How is that possible? How is any of this possible? I don't know if any of the things I remember are real. I don't even know if any of these memories are mine. It all feels like a really bad dream. None of it makes any sense. Is this…are we…on a spaceship?" Nicolas looked expectantly at Nylon. Tears falling freely: wanting and not wanting answers.

Nylon stared thoughtfully at the floor. Then coming to a conclusion, he said, "Let me answer your last question first. It is by far the easiest to explain. Yes Nicolas this is a spaceship. It is what is called a Generation Ship. Meaning we have been on this ship…"

"…for several generations." Nicolas interrupted. "You are not the original inhabitants then. I've read sci-fi books…at least I think I have."

"Yes and no," Nylon answered cryptically.