Splintered Energy (The Colors Book 1) (5 page)

Blanket billowing behind him, he navigated suburbia for twelve miles. He could distinguish human or animal breathing up to ten yards away. Dogs followed him through their territory until stopped by chain or invisible fence. Ground contact time diminished, stride frequency increased and decreased, and the earth seemed to rise to meet his feet.

Fourteen minutes later, he slowed to a jog and entered the housing development. The blacktop driveway at 55 Edgewood Lane allowed him a grunt of relief, and he filtered the sounds of the night. Nothing human or animal breathed in the quiet shelter. Eighty seconds of systematic number punching and he opened the garage.

The lock on the interior door broke with a sharp twist, and he found the light switch. He preferred the dark safety of the night, but he had to face what—
his
—home held.

Shoulders squared, he grabbed a broom from the corner closet, and proceeded to swat paper towels, dishtowels, and a white toaster into the closet. He tossed and caught an ugly-green ceramic dish three times, as he crossed the room. He placed it on a shelf and sighed, stepped back and centered it correctly, before closing the cabinet.

Soon, reasonable shades of grey, blue, and beige filled the kitchen. He’d ignore the refrigerator for now, with hope he wouldn’t be here long enough to care. Objects from the living room filled another closet.

A partial smile curved his lips. The computer had been positioned near a window. He patted the monitor with affection, powered it on, and returned to his systematic rearranging until the living room and master bedroom were at least tolerable. He left the door to the second bedroom closed. The home was basically pleasing to begin with.

Malcolm James had been okay, for a
now
dead human.

He flipped the light in the blue-tiled bathroom connected to the master bedroom. For the first time since he saw the glimpse of the sky earlier that morning, he understood joy as he noted the shower.

He placed the stolen blanket, folded neatly, on the counter. Eyes closed, he grabbed towels and shoved them in a cupboard. He turned the shower on full blast and made his clothes a tidy stack.

The scent and sound of splattered droplets gave him courage to face the mirror. His muscular body radiated disciplined strength, without a trace of fat. He carefully pulled away and flickered a sickly yellow-white. He resurged, repeated the process of beautiful to Caucasian and established how simplistic a change of skin hue was.

Every emotion clamped down, he stayed the wrong color, looked into his eyes and concentrated. Beautiful beams dimmed to the color of the tiled floor. His mouth, open with dismay, exposed the teeth. He resurged.

He banged his head down on the counter, escaping the reflection—
oh my, not
the
reflection, but
his.

I am so ugly
. His sob twisted from his lips. The now familiar emotion of sorrow, akin to fear, led to despair.

Get it together man, whatever, idiot Mr. James
. He straightened. He flicked the light off, and stepped into the shower where he continued to cry. After two minutes, he quieted. He stayed immobile, water cascading over his shivering body for four hours, four minutes, four seconds.

Shortly before dawn, he turned the shower off. Droplets glistened, reflected off his flesh and abandoned him. The blanket wrapped around his waist, he strode to the computer.

Increments of time counted down, as he broke security codes and entered the Cleveland police system. File numbers changed, he deleted and rewrote James’s sedan as an abandoned vehicle while another section of his brain sizzled.

How did I come to be in this body?
A disabled vehicle, the timing was such James had pulled off the road.
I killed him, and then my memories began
. He couldn’t assess a single memory of the deceased man. He had no recall of anything prior to finding himself trapped, except absolute purity. The beauty of the past he yearned for.

In the now, he must accept he was not only an individual, he also owned many things, including six credit cards. He, a.k.a. dead human Malcolm James, adjusted the name, address, and car license number.

His exit without trace from the police computer grid took sixteen minutes, forty-two seconds. An email with credit card information, authorization to replace the tire, took care of the garage connected with the impound lot. He sent a final message to the manager at the downtown branch, Bank of America, stating he’d miss meetings for at least a week.

He left the comforting hum of the computer for the bedroom and threw himself face down on the blue bedspread.

Dawn of day two tapped on the windows. Malcolm James the imposter didn’t need sleep, and he seethed with anxiety. He was an individual, alone, but he didn’t feel
solid
. No weight against him, no one to shoulder, he had no substance.

Malcolm James shouldn’t be alone. Where was…
his
…what?

A dilemma. He didn’t yet know what he lacked.

Chapter Five

Aaron stood back and watched. Evening of day one since this creature lit up his world, but he remained as befuddled as sunrise had found him.

Waves of long hair tumbled past her waist, giving the strange woman an ethereal fairy-like quality. She absorbed information like a sponge. Another reason to assume she wasn’t human, as if sparkling laser eyes weren’t enough.

“You know my name’s Aaron.” He pointed at himself, then at her. “What’s your name?”

She flowed to his bed and folded thin legs under her with feline agility. “Don’t know. Aaron find name?”

Wow. Communication established. Major hurdle overcome. Did he dare explore unknown territories regarding chromophobia without the starship Enterprise? In his bedroom?

A deep breath and he “made it so.” He removed his sunglasses, placed them on his nightstand and—yippee—she didn’t dissolve in a heap of terror. It appeared her acceptance of human eyes, specifically the white sclera, now extended to him. With an apprehensive shiver, she faced his calm smile, and dropped her timid, alien eyes.

Unbelievable. It certainly didn’t help, considering he gawked as if she had an emerald halo and was about to sprout wings.

“I don’t know your name or what you are.” He leaned with his elbows against the back of the chair. Maybe if he lost a few inches of height, she’d lower that trepidation a notch or so. “You don’t have to be afraid. We won’t hurt you. But until we understand you better, you shouldn’t touch David.”

David flipped his eyes up at the ceiling and then frowned at his father. “Why don’t we give her a name? I don’t think Green Goddess is accepted in San Diego social circles.”

Sure it is. Specifically, the strip clubs, along with Candy and Cinnamon
. “Emerald or Jade comes to mind. Lady Greensleeves? Venus? She rose from the sea.”

“Jade,” David said.

Aaron smiled at the beauty twisting her fingers in her dress. “That okay with you?”

“Yes. Teach Jade where water is. Please.”

David grabbed the empty glass and ran into the connecting bathroom. She cast a hesitant look at Aaron and followed.

Behind her, Aaron paused in the doorway. A sharp shudder ran through her before she inched toward her reflection. Her large eyes became enormous, filled with horror. A visible tremor in her hand, she touched her face in the glass.

“Aaron, help?” She turned to him, pointed to her teeth, and gasped, “Take them away?”

Dear God. “They can’t come out. They won’t hurt you.” He stepped to her, grabbed her limp hand, and raised her fingers to touch her mouth.

She sobbed and wrenched free.

Jesus. A ninety-pound cutie. But his wrist throbbed like a gorilla had yanked at him. She stared at her hand, her face twisted in the now familiar anxiety.

“Aaron…Jade is here. Why?” She cringed from the mirror. Her head banged down on the black tiled counter, her thin shoulders heaved, and that soft sobbing began anew.

“It’s getting weird again, Dad.”

Understatement of the year. David needed super-dad to fix everything, even an angel disabled by fear. Teethphobia connected to albophobia? Weird wasn’t the word for it. Yet any excuse to hold her was sweet. Especially if he could make her forget about pulling teeth or ripping his arm off. Gently, Aaron guided her…Jade into his arms.

“Shh. Nothing will harm you.” He jerked his chin at his son. “Get her a drink.”

Even her tears, glittering their way down delicate cheeks, were green. Aaron raised her head, put the glass to her lips and smiled—with his mouth closed.

She drank. Droplets spilled over her chin as she gave a hiccupping sob.

“This is a shower.” David opened the glass door. “Water comes out, and you get cleaned.” Smart kid tried to distract her from the mirror.

“A lot of water?” Her voice shook.

David turned the shower on.

Jade’s shivering stopped, and surprise lit her face as the air around her ignited. Emerald photons sparkled from a stirring fantasy being, a being unable to be contained by a mere human. And escape Aaron’s arms, she did.

To his bemusement, the dress moved over her head in one fluid motion. Black panties and bra joined the pile of material on the floor, and she ran into the shower.

“Dad, she’s naked,” David croaked.

“Yep, I noticed.”
Lord, how I notice
.

He glanced at his flushed son.
Damn
. He pushed the boy into the bedroom and angled the door. The kid couldn’t see around him, and no way would Aaron forgo another look.

She’d left the shower door open, her eyes closed. Water splashed everywhere. Droplets slid over her upturned face and down. She was thin to the point of anorexic, yet that radiance emanated from her head to toe. Water reflected green, splattered off perky breasts, deeper emerald nipples and yes, if this forest nymph dyed hair she did everywhere. Jolts of desire shot through him. He forced himself to turn before his knees gave out.

After a few minutes, Aaron turned to his son perched beside him on the bed, studiously avoiding eye contact.

“Stop thinking about how pretty she is,” he muttered. “God, she’s gorgeous. And no, you can’t teach her anymore. I’m her exclusive instructor from now on.” He smacked the kid in the shoulder, and David sprawled backward.

“Grow up, Dad.”

“Will do, son. Hey. Go fetch some sort of food. We can’t bring her in the kitchen. The fridge might inspire things worse than tooth removal.” Aaron rubbed his wrist. “And, skip the spinach.”

“Why don’t you go?”

Further discussion? Nah. Brute force. His unhappy captive pressed into his side, Aaron shuffled David past the open doorway. “Think I’m leaving you alone with a naked goddess? Think again.”

A sheepish glare, a sigh, and David bolted for the kitchen.

Lovely. Beautiful. Surreal. Words failed to describe the being in Aaron’s shower. Of course, he’d have many hours in prison to contemplate superlatives. In a state with serious illegal-alien issues, they’d crucify him for keeping a phobic creature from outer space all to himself.

But how could he involve the Caucasian “good ol’ boys” that ran this world? He couldn’t begin to predict what she’d do, other than be terrified. He grinned. He could be wrong. Surely the lure of a green card would please, if she survived the police escort to Roswell.

That approaching sound would be the pitter-patter of excited boy feet.

Three peanut butter sandwiches, a clear plate and a brown bowl of pre-packaged salad entered the bedroom. David faced his father’s raised eyebrows with confusion turning to comprehension. They choked down the sandwiches made with white bread.

Unfortunately, they had plenty of time. Jade showed no sign of exiting the shower.

David gobbled every carrot, but left the romaine and iceberg. “Think I should make lime Jell-O?”

“How about that slimy cheese in the back of the fridge you refuse to eat?”

David rolled his eyes. “Whaddya think we should do with her?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.” Oh yeah, he lied. But all his inspirations started with giving a twelve-year-old his wallet and car keys.

An hour passed, and Aaron debated whether he had the self-restraint to check on her. His worries had been swept aside, while he obsessed about hers. She freaked out over the strangest things, and the shower involved a huge block of time in which she hadn’t wailed or clutched him. Had she dissolved down the drain, back to whatever planet she came from?

He’d let his guard down. Until she yanked his hand, he thought her as defenseless as a child. Aaron lay back beside his sleeping son, his revolver by his hand. Could she even be killed?

* * *

Aaron started to roll. David must have—she wasn’t David.

Wet and nude, the woman slept on his chest. Damp hair covered her shoulder and breasts, reaching past the curve of her hip. A sweet pure scent filled his lungs, unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Weightless, Jade’s tiny body caressed him.

Sarah
. It’d been awhile since his bed held a naked woman.

And now this…what the hell was she?

Jesus, he was only human. Why couldn’t she be one too?

It felt painfully pleasant, his careful ease out from under Jade. Legs threatening to buckle, he took the blanket off David and covered her, and scooped up his sleeping child.

He removed sneakers and did the head pat thing. He left David’s door cracked open and returned to his room.

Cold water splashed on his face helped. Of course, every deadly towel had been hidden. He shook free of water droplets and turned off the shower. Back at the bed, he picked up his revolver.
How goddamn stupid am I?
He’d left it right beside her.

He pulled a chair over. Long legs on the corner of the bed next to hers, gun in his lap, Aaron had no doubt. Dreams came in color.

* * *

Color would have permeated Malcolm’s dreams, if he’d slept. The sun rose, and day two of this miserable existence continued. Sprawled on a bed, he was filled with a rising sense of dread. Surely, survival odds plummeted with every moment he didn’t find answers, and he rolled to his feet. The blanket secure around his waist, he strode to the computer.

What to search on Google? Colored humans? Medical abnormalities?

Oh my. White supremacist vitriol. Horrible. He didn’t want to contemplate such hatred.

There—a search for blue skin lead to cyanosis. Irrelevant, he didn’t need the oxygen he drew in. Argyria would have required colloidal silver. Dyed skin yielded more than ten pages of hits, nothing applicable. Smurfs equaled fantasy and built to a formidable conclusion. He couldn’t possibly be a mutant hero, but he did have an arch nemesis. In this moment,
time
raced on while he tried to understand his “abnormality.”

He’d created a local news clip by removing restraints thought unbreakable. The lack of a body beneath the shattered window of the hospital confused authorities. A number was given to call with information concerning a male in his early thirties. No release of his skin color. It seemed authorities kept information from the public.

I am not, cannot, should not be alone
.

Maybe check out of the ordinary worldwide news based on arrival date?

A young woman in the medical center, Tucson, Arizona—he’d have to break into the clinic’s records for detail.

Rochester, New York? The following information whipped his dread into full-fledged panic.

Five minutes later, he’d accepted the need to act without a single error. He knew now the meaning of autopsy. The hourglass computer image nagged him. He’d learned the slotted increments of a workday and acknowledged he faced a ruthless enemy. No
time
at the present to delve into the philosophy of any abstract meanings of the four-letter word. Not if he wanted to control what future he may have, and return to another four-letter word he yearned for—his past.

He allowed himself a flash of a smile, understanding irony when his number search took him to the
Yellow
Pages.

Within ten minutes, he rivaled a mediocre lawyer’s knowledge. Typed with compulsive accuracy, his bogus legal brief called for a twenty-four hour autopsy suspension citing religious reasons. He didn’t follow the logic of organized religion, nor did he care to research further as minutes evaporated. He signed the brief with the name of a fictitious judge in Baltimore, Maryland and faxed it to the coroner’s office at Strong Hospital, Rochester, New York.

Someone would eventually notice the fax hadn’t come from Baltimore. He’d given out his location; but if what he feared was true, he had little
time
to calculate more intelligent options.

What to say? He knew nothing about the deceased woman, but his first human dialogue exchange would hopefully be one sided.

Oh my, I’ll try not to be alien
. He picked up the recharged cell phone, and watched the change from 7:01 to 7:02 AM. A sigh of relief escaped when the anticipated answering machine clicked on.

“My name is Michael Black. I assume I’m the only living relative of the unidentified woman brought into your morgue yesterday, the aftermath of a police officer using a taser. My lawyer should have faxed my request to postpone her autopsy. I’ll arrive before 3 PM today to confirm my sister’s identity, and pray over her according to our beliefs. After that, you’re free to proceed with the autopsy and no personal lawsuit will be filed.”

He left the cell number, which would be logged in the machine’s memory, and disconnected. Hopefully, he succeeded in winning eight hours. Double his requirement, but who knew what horrors could delay him.

It took six minutes to create a history for Michael Black. Access to the Baltimore Police database was as numerically difficult to hack into as Cleveland’s. He gave his alias a schizophrenic sister with a violent history, resulting in Michael having power of attorney and guardianship. That information could be limited to lawyers and hospital records, yet irrelevant. He only desired a false trail for the authorities.