Hybrid (21 page)

She had met Michael Flynn the first week of college. They were both freshmen at Colorado State University; Amanda was eighteen and Michael was twenty-two. He had spent four years in the army, most of it in Iraq, and was getting a late start. When he introduced himself during orientation and learned that she was on full scholarship he insisted that she pay for all of their future dates. She found him mildly amusing but had no interest in any romantic pursuits. Her brother had been killed in a car accident three months earlier, and for the third time in her young life she found herself grieving. He had been the one constant in her life, and suddenly, senselessly he was gone. It had taken every ounce of strength to leave her aunt’s house and start a new life; she simply didn’t have the energy for Michael or anyone else. Except he was not to be denied; at least twice a week he would “casually” bump into her and list the reasons why she should go out with him. After two months she finally relented, and three and a half years latter they were married. The next six years of her life were idyllic; it ended when the plane that carried Michael and their son plowed into a Wyoming wheat field. A mechanic had improperly secured the door before takeoff. A senseless error.

She was being torn in half. A part of her wanted to cry over what she had once had, and lost; but she no longer had tears. A part of her wanted to leave this place and never think of it again; to accept the brutal fact that the only real constant in life was change. To move forward without the burden of a shattered past, and accept what she had become. Except it wasn’t exactly clear what she had become. Reisch was gone, and with him, so were the answers that she needed.

She closed her eyes for a moment and then her cell phone rang. “Hello, Lisa,” Amanda said. She didn’t need caller ID to know who was calling.

“Hi honey, are you all right?”

“Honestly, no. I am anything but all right. Where are you?” Lisa was the one person Amanda could confide in fully, and right now, she needed her mother-in-law’s advice.

“The Walters’, they’re away for the winter and I’ve been taking care of their plants.”

“You’re okay; no one is tapping this line.” Amanda spent the next five minutes explaining all that had happened since she arrived.

“Is he gone?” Lisa asked.

“For awhile, but I think he’s already done the real damage.”

“Can he hurt you?” Lisa asked and Amanda smiled at her math. In Lisa’s mind, a threat to her was on a par with the possible deaths of thousands of strangers.

“I don’t think so,” Amanda answered. If anyone else had asked her that question, the answer would have been a categorical no. “I was hoping to get some answers from him; now I’ve lost that chance.”

“What answers Amanda?”

“What am I, and where do I fit in?”

“He wouldn’t have those answers,” Lisa said.

“He seems to have answered those questions for himself.”

“Do you want to follow in those footsteps?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “ This should never have happened to me; it should have happened to Michael.“ It was a thought that she carried in secret for years. Amanda knew that Michael had witnessed, and possibly even done terrible things in the military, things that haunted him. He never once spoke of them; he locked them away in his memory, and they only managed to escape when he was deep asleep. But they never had the power to change him. “He was the strong one,“ she said.

“I know honey,” Linda answered.

“I’m lost Linda. I can’t go back to what I was, and I’m afraid I don’t have the strength to resist what I’ve become. Maybe there are no answers aside from cold biologic facts. Maybe the simple truth is that there is no place for me.”

“You’re deceiving yourself. You want to blame six years of inactivity on the possibility that you have been changed into something so unique that you don’t fit in anywhere. You might sell that to some people, but don’t try peddling that crap to me. I knew you before this happened, and I know you now, and the differences are only superficial.”

“Linda it’s far deeper than superficial. You know what I’m capable of, you know what I’ve done.”

“I’ve been the wife of a cop for nearly four decades, and between you and me all you did was dispense some justice.”

“I didn’t do it for the sake of justice,” Amanda reminded her mother-in-law.

“I know why you did it, and that’s why we made you promise to stop. The very fact that you have kept that promise shows that at a fundamental level you are still who you were.”

“It’s not that simple; there are realities that can’t be ignored. Even Aunt Em could see that society can‘t tolerate my existence. It’s not like I can go out and get a job and a husband, buy a house, fill it with children, and live happily ever after.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you turn into this Reisch fellow.”

“I don’t see a middle ground.” Amanda said, and for an instant, she was distracted by Oliver’s mind brushing against hers. His efforts were feeble and clumsy. Quietly, she followed the connection back to the priest and was flooded with his anxiety and excitement. He was new to this and not the equal of Reisch or herself. This new virus was going to create a whole new population of people who had no place in society.

“Amanda, are you still there?” Lisa asked.

“Sorry, I got distracted by something,” she said coming back to the conversation.

“I was worried that I’d gone too far,” Lisa said.

“You didn’t, you said what needed to be said. I’m not sure I agree with everything, but you’ve given me something to think about.” Between her aunt and Lisa, Amanda had had enough introspection for a while. “What do you know about Father Oliver?”

“So Greg told you about what happened this morning. I think he is exactly as he seems, open and honest. I know that after this morning Greg has his doubts, but I don’t think he’s quite thought this through. I think we all know that Reisch infected him and he’s changed just as you have. I think the only reason he got so angry was because Father Oliver mentioned your name.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

“You should go see Oliver. I think maybe you could help each other.”

“I think I will,” Amanda answered. She had no real hope that he could help her, but she might stop him from getting himself killed. Reisch was not gone and she could ill afford another enemy. “You should go, Lisa; they’re watching you, and are probably getting suspicious that you’re trying to reach me.”

Oliver stared at the door for a long time, listening to the muted exchanges of his office staff. They spoke softly, sharing their observations and theories, all of them hoping and praying that the old Father Oliver would return soon. Slowly, their activity and voices returned to their normal levels, and life became routine again.
At least for them
, he thought.

Oliver’s head was hurting again. It was strange that everything about him seemed to be undergoing a sort of rejuvenation, except his head. He had never been one to get headaches, but they were now an everyday event; and today’s was shaping up to be a real dozy. He reached for his aspirin bottle, which had become his constant companion this past month, and washed down three tablets with a gulp of coffee. That was one consolation. For the last ten years, his doctors had told him to avoid caffeine in any form, including coffee. The problem was that he was a coffee addict. It had taken two more episodes of cardiac irregularities to convince him that the doctors were right. “Thank you, Mr. Reisch,” he said before finishing the cup.

He cleared his mind and focused on the throbbing in his head. It was a technique that worked well for his arthritic joints and back, but it wasn’t very effective on these new headaches. What he really needed was a good night’s sleep, but there was no way he was going to risk that again. He closed his eyes and visualized a knot untying, but the ache continued. Finally, he gave up and found his headphones. He had a large collection of African tribal music, almost all of which he had recorded himself. Long ago, he’d had the idea to record the vibrant and pulsing rhythms of the local tribes and bring the recording home to America. He sent tape after tape to large and eventually even small studios, but no one seemed to be interested. This music wasn’t commercially viable. He turned the volume up as high as his head would allow, and he drifted back to pitch-black nights in front of a large fire watching those incredible people celebrate life. He had almost finished the first tape when a hand shook his arm. He jumped and let out a small yell, which startled his secretary in return.

“I’m sorry, Father, but we have been ringing your phone for ten minutes. We thought there was something wrong with you.” Lucy Cummings said with worry lines creasing her face.

“No, I haven’t completely lost it, Lucy. Just trying to hide from a headache.” He was pleased to find that the headache had receded into the background. “What’s up?” he asked in good humor.

“There’s someone here to see you. She says it’s urgent and can’t wait. It’s Greg Flynn’s daughter-in-law.”

Lucy had taken two steps away from the desk, but she may as well have been two miles away, because Oliver had stopped listening.

She was here. He could feel her presence through the door. It was as if a very strong heat lamp had suddenly been turned on, inches from his face. He looked up and was surprised to see his secretary standing in front of him, waiting for a reply. “Would you mind asking her to come in, Lucy?” His voice became tentative, and Lucy hesitated for just a moment, thinking he might change his mind. “It’s okay. Show her in,” he said with a little more confidence.

Lucy turned and left the office, leaving his door ajar. Through the crack, Oliver saw Amanda Flynn for the first time, at least in the flesh. She was a beautiful young woman: short blond hair, light blue eyes, and a magnetic smile, which she had turned on for the ladies in the office. She wore a simple gray wool coat that broke just below her knees.

Lucy led her back to Oliver’s office, chatting briefly about Amanda’s father-in-law. As she entered the office, Amanda looked up at Oliver.

“I’ll hold your calls if that’s all right with you, Father,” Lucy said while closing the door. Oliver and Amanda thanked her simultaneously.

Oliver found himself standing, not remembering when he had gotten up. His headphones dangled around his neck. Amanda stared in return, and neither of them knew what to say.

“Well, this is a little awkward,” Amanda finally said.

“Yes, it is. Should we pretend that we don’t know each other and start with introductions? I’m John Oliver, or Father Oliver, or just plain John—take your pick. Oh, I’m sorry; please, can I take your coat?” He quickly took off the headphones, walked around the desk, and reached for her coat. She handed it to him, and he hung it on a hook behind the door. They stood facing each other in the middle of the room.

“I’m Amanda Flynn,” she said and offered her hand.

John reached to shake it, but just before he made contact, there was a loud snap, and both of them were thrown to the floor. Oliver’s hand was badly burned, and the sleeve of his cassock melted halfway up to his elbow. His first thought was that this was just another hallucination. Then the pain set in, which, for a time, blotted out any other thoughts. He managed a glance at his hand and forearm, which were red and blistered but not charred, and after a moment, the pain began to recede. He looked up and found Amanda working her hand as well. It too was red, but not blistered, and by the look on her face, she was more shocked than hurt.

“What the hell was that?” Oliver said breathlessly.

“I have no idea, but I dreamed something very similar earlier this morning. This is real, though. Look at your sleeve,” she said, motioning with her head. “It’s still smoldering.”

“I know. So much for one hundred percent polyester.” He worked his hand more vigorously. “The pain is going away. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Mine, too. So is the redness.” Amanda got to her feet, and Oliver followed. “Maybe we should just keep our distance.”

“Fair enough. You sit there.” He motioned to one of the chairs that faced his desk. “And I’ll sit way over there.” He indicated his desk chair. He rounded his desk and sat down, all the while opening and closing his hand. He still had some blisters, and his sleeve was ruined, but otherwise, he was back to normal.

“So we’ve learned something already,” Amanda said in an upbeat tone. She stared at him, and he stared back.

“Small talk, anyone?” Oliver said to break the tension.

“I suppose I should begin.” She waited for him to nod his assent. “As far as I can tell, there are only three of us. I know next to nothing about Reisch and very little about you, so I’ll start off by telling you my story.”

“Fair enough,” Oliver said, suddenly feeling uneasy. Her presence confirmed a reality well beyond his understanding, and despite the fact that most of his adult life had been devoted to God and an existence beyond this one, a part of him wasn’t yet ready to give up his simple, uncomplicated world.

“Seven years ago, I went to Honduras with the Red Cross to assist the local population after a hurricane. We were sent to a small town to set up a relief center, but the people we were supposed to help had already died. Most of them either killed themselves or were killed by someone else, but several had died from some form of hemorrhagic fever. We came in unprotected, and everyone I was with ultimately became infected and eventually died. I was the lone survivor. The U.S. military eventually flew me home, at least back to the States. They held me for several weeks while researchers from the CDC tried to find out why I didn’t die like everyone else. That’s when the Change started.” She nervously twirled her short blond hair.