Adopted Son Page 15

  “And what has the current administration done for those poor, unfortunate, alien children? Nothing. We need to have education plans for parents coping with having an alien baby. We need to create federally-funded orphanages to take in those thousands of infants that have been abandoned on the street. We need to protect these kids from mobs of understandably angry humans. We can’t have a repeat of the violence that occurred four months ago. The longer this goes on, the more of these alien kids we’ll have to deal with. We have to develop a policy on their future. As of now there are no government guidelines on what to do with these people.”

  “Let me tell you some of the other ways the administration has failed you. Take taxes for example...” It is difficult to hear the Senator from the wings of the stage. The loudspeakers are all facing the crowd. Governor Potter watches though. He stands behind the curtain and watches. He has come to the A.L.F. meeting for two purposes today. Primarily he is here to give a campaign speech to these unionists, but he has also come on the advice of his staff to check out Senator Johnston in action. He is impressed by the way the crowd reacts to him. He has the right look about him.

  “Didn’t I tell you, this guy’s dynamite... dynamite!” Ron Willins repeats the last word for effect. He taps the Governor on the shoulder and repeats himself, “dynamite.”

  “He’s got the look Ron, he’s got these guys really eating out of his hand. But don’t you think that he’s too much of a one-issue guy?”

  “That’s ok, that’s ok, don’t worry about that. He’s got what you need. He’s the guy who embarrassed the hell out of President Michaels with that whole Hangar 18 scandal. He’s been calling for the President to resign for months now. He’s got the momentum. This guy’s got Halpern’s people scared stupid. He’s the one you want.”

  “I’m still concerned about the one-issue thing.”

  “Yeah, sure, I’d agree with you, if it were any issue but this,” replies Ron. “HS consistently polls as the number one problem that people care about. If you’re going to have a one-issue guy, this is the guy. Plus, he’s from New York, nominally, and you’re going to need some pull in the North-East.”

  Governor Potter agrees. He trusts his campaign staff. Ron has been with him for years, way back to the days when he was just a state senator. “OK Ron. Call his staff, let’s make him the offer.”

  “I’m already on it.” Ron walks further backstage, pulling a cell phone out of his coat. Governor Potter turns his attention back to the stage.

  “...Well, I’ve taken up too much of your time already,” says Ray, “Let me introduce the person that you came here to see today, your next President, Bill Potter!” Amid the cheers of the crowd, the Governor steps out on stage. He greets Ray with a big handshake. He is all smiles.

  One month after Governor Potter announces his running mate. Holy Trinity Orphanage, Bronx, NY

  “...and God, please take care of Father Blythe.” The frail boy kneels on the hard, wooden floor in front of the window. Franklin always faces the window when he prays, especially at first light. The rays of sunlight coming up remind him of the power of the divine spirit. He likes to feel the warmth on his face when his eyes are closed. It makes him feel that God himself is looking down on him, heating the boy’s skin with His all-seeing gaze. A small tear begins to form at the corner of his large, alien eye as he thinks of Father Blythe. He tries to remind himself that God never lets things happen for no reason, and the incident on the streets last summer is all part of the infinite plan, and that he should accept it and learn from it. That’s what the Father would want him to do. He struggles to maintain composure.

  The door to his small room opens without a knock. “You’re late for breakfast,” says a gruff voice. It is Father Kennedy.

  “I’m sorry Father,” the child says meekly. “I was just saying my morning prayers.” He rises to his feet and puts on the red cap that Sister Mary Helen made for him to replace the one he lost.

  Father Kennedy looms large in the doorway. His arms are crossed at his chest. His black suit is neatly pressed and seems somehow more angular and sharp than the slightly rumpled outfit that Father Blythe was often seen in. “I hope that you’ve been asking for forgiveness for your sins,” he says authoritatively.

  “Yes Father,” replies Franklin with his eyes lowered as a show of respect. “I was also saying a prayer for Father Blythe’s soul. He was an inspiration to me.”

  “Give up your daydreaming boy. You’ll never become like Father Blythe. He had a soul. You are just a godless thing.” Franklin was stung by the accusation, but not surprised. It was something that he had been told many times before. “You want to become a priest, to become a man of God don’t you? But that can’t happen you see because the operative word is MAN of God. You are not a man. Pray boy, get on your knees and pray for your miserable life. Pray that God in his wisdom has the mercy to spare you for another day. That’s the best you can hope for.”

  “Yes Father,” Franklin says meekly. He pulls the brim of his cap as low as he can to avoid the piercing gaze of Father Kennedy. The priest grabs the hat from the boy’s head.

  “Haven’t you learned any respect you little mongrel?” he says, lifting the hat out of the child’s range. “I thought I told you no hats in the house. Where were you born, in a park?” The comment is meant to be hurtful. The Father grabs the boy by the chin and forces eye contact. “Is that a tear I see boy?” He drops the child and heads towards the door. “I didn’t think that insects knew how to cry!” he says to no one in particular. At the door he suddenly stops and turns around, surveying the room. “When breakfast is over son I want you to march right back up here and clean this place up. We got two more of you little freaks last night, and we’re going to have to put them somewhere.” He tosses the hat to the floor and tromps off leaving Franklin alone.

  Franklin stood in the middle of the room for quite a while. Tears rolled down his face. “The Father was a jerk, but he was right after all,” Franklin thought. “I am a monster.” He had seen the TV reports, he knew what he was and where he came from. Abandoned by his mother, not wanted, not even a member of the human race really. He was a monster. He required mercy, he wanted to beg forgiveness of the Lord, but how do you beg forgiveness for your own birth? He pondered the question for a while. Father Blythe would have known the answer. Father Blythe was the only human with enough compassion to care about him.

  He wiped his tears with his sleeve and caught his nose on the safety pin that kept the wrist cinched tight. The pain startled him into motion. He remembered that the Father was waiting for breakfast. Franklin rubbed his face with the waist portion of his shirt until all the tears were gone. Then he started downstairs. Almost as an afterthought he went back to the room and picked up his red cap and put it back on.

  The Hayes residence, Frederick, MD. Two years, three months after the birth of the Hayes’ second child.

  Colin doesn’t have to be called in for dinner. He knows what time to come. He is alerted not by sound but by smell. The whole house is filled with an almost palpable taste emanating from the kitchen. The roast has reached the perfect level of tenderness, the butter on the potatoes has just begun to sizzle, and the carrots have become soft without losing their color. Janice opens her mouth to call her boys to dinner, but she doesn’t have to. Her voice is interrupted by Colin calling upstairs to his eldest son, “Ben, dinner’s ready.” Janice closes her mouth and smiles, knowing that her cooking is enough to entice her husband into the kitchen by smell alone.

  A few seconds later, Colin’s form appears in the hallway. He is still wearing the short-sleeved dress shirt and tie that he had on at work that day. He gives his wife a hug, or at least attempts to. She is carrying a hot serving dish and swerves to avoid spilling steaming gravy all over the place. He reaches over to the high chair that has already been placed at the table. He rubs the little bald head of his youngest child, “How are you doing today Neil?” Neil, being less than three, is too you
ng to formulate a coherent sentence. But, he is able to drop a saliva-coated, plastic toy on the floor in his excitement. Colin sits down in his usual chair and begins serving himself without waiting for anyone else to sit down.

  A few minutes later, all of the food had been placed on the table, and the family had started their dinner– all except Ben. Janice looked around nervously. Colin could tell that she was disturbed about something. “Dammit Ben, get the hell down here,” he cries suddenly, “I told you dinner was ready.” A few seconds later, tell-tale footsteps on the stairs indicate the presence of a child. Soon, a head appeared out of the hallway darkness. Colin glares.

  “I already told Mom, I’m not eating dinner,” says the boy defiantly.

  “You’ll do what you’re told. I’m not wasting food. Come in here and sit down.”

  The boy stands his ground. “I said, ‘I’m not eating at the same table as that thing.’”

  It’s the same old story. This has been happening almost every night now. Colin had originally thought that perhaps this was just a phase, a stage that all older siblings go through when confronted with a younger brother. Colin and Janice had had long discussions as to whether this had more to do with Ben’s need for attention as opposed to something more. Colin had had a bad day at work. He pushed his chair out and stood up. The formerly defiant young child immediately cowered in fear and ran to the table. Colin sat back down wordlessly.

  “I’ll sit here, but I’m still not eating with that thing at the table. It’s gross,” Ben says.

  “That ‘thing’ is your little brother,” Janice says in a playful manner. She had read a lot of books on child rearing and was a lot slower to anger than Colin was. “Have some respect.” She served the latecomer some slices of beef. “Take the gravy.”

  Ben took the dish from his mother, but didn’t stop talking. “That’s not what Senator Johnston says. Senator Johnston says that Neil isn’t my brother. None of them aliens are. They just want to suck our blood in the middle of the night.”

  Colin glares at Ben but allows Janice to respond. “Never you mind what ‘Senator Johnston’ says young man. I’m your mother and I tell you that Neil is your little brother. You treat him nice. One day your father and I will be gone and he’ll be the only family you have left.”

  The table fell silent for a few minutes. Ben gave up his tirade for the time being, focusing instead on the delicious meal in front of him. Both Colin and Janice didn’t want to bring anything up that might stir the pot further. It was a tough situation for all of them. They chewed in silence.

  As the dinner progressed, the admonishment that Janice had given to Ben began to wear off and he began to muse out loud. “Hey Dad, do you think the aliens are just coming to take over the planet, or do you think that they want to eat us too?” He looked directly at his brother.

  “I told you to shut up Ben.”

  “But Senator Johnston says...”

  “I don’t give a damn about what Senator Johnston says. Just shut up and eat your dinner.” Colin pushed the food around on his plate in frustration. Janice sat silent. For his part, little Neil was oblivious to all the strife. He continued to play with his food.

  Ben waited a few seconds and then mumbled under his breath, “Jeez, you’d think that you’d have more respect for your boss.”

  “I do not work for Ray Johnston. I’m just on a panel, that’s all. I haven’t even talked to the guy in almost a year. All we do is write reports and send them to the Senate. What he does with them is his own business.”

  “Dad?” Ben said innocently.

  “What Ben.”

  “Does Senator Johnston even know that you’ve got an alien freak for a kid?”

  Janice jumped up from the table. “That’s it young man! Go to your room right this minute.” She pointed at the stairs.

  “That’s ok,” said the child defiantly, “It’s starting to smell bad in here anyway.” He bounced out of his chair and ran upstairs. A few seconds later you could hear a door slam in the distance.

  Colin and Janice looked at each other wordlessly. Neither of them said anything, but they both knew what the other was thinking. The boy was right, Ray Johnston didn’t know about Colin’s second child. No one on the panel knew. Chances were pretty good that no one would care really. After all, Colin had been a valued member on the scientific panel for some time now and a lot of people had HS kids these days. But both of them could feel which way the wind was blowing. There was something palpable in the air. Something that told them that someday in the future, little Neil could prove more a liability than an asset.

  As if on cue, Neil dumped his plate of mashed potatoes over onto his head. The plastic plate clattered loudly. The boy sat gleaming from behind a veil of gravy. He seemed quite proud of his achievement.

  Colin smiled slightly at his child. Janice, struggled to control a giggle. Then the dam burst and both parents laughed uncontrollably.

  Transcript from the television show “Pundits!” First broadcast four months after Bill Potter’s election victory.

  Fade in.

  Carlos:And Welcome to Pundits! I’m your host Carlos Marquez. Today on our program, we have noted sociologist Dr. Nicolas Boyd. He’s just finished his latest book, ‘The Enemy Within.’

  He holds up the book for the camera. On the cover is a reproduction of ‘American Gothic,’ but with a young HS child positioned between the farmer and his wife.

  Carlos:We’ve also got with us Dr. Richard Violin, author of the book, “Womb Raider.’ I want to start with you Dr. Boyd. Tell us, what made you write this fascinating new work?

  Nick: Well Carlos, I’ve been working with HS kids for almost eight years now. My research has specialized in family interactions. The subject of all of my books has been how changes within society as a whole are dealt with on the family level.

  Carlos:Yes, I interviewed you several years ago when your book, ‘How the Internet Will Change Our Kids’ was released. Fascinating.

  Nick:Exactly. In that book I tried to show that as the ability for a child to obtain information increased, that child’s dependence on their parents decreases, which will inevitably lead to a breakdown of the traditional family structure. But now, the more I work with families afflicted with HS, the more confident I am that this disease is turning into a societal nightmare.

  Carlos:Dr. Boyd, you have a fantastic hypothesis that you spell out in this book. It’s something that really terrified me, and I think that our viewers will really be interested. Summarize, if you can, what you think HS actually is.

  Nick:Well Carlos, this is fundamental to my theory, and it is something that needs to come out in the open. That’s why I wrote this book. I want there to be discussion on this topic. You see, when now Vice President Johnston opened that vault at Wright-Pat, he really created more questions than he did answers. Like most people, I started thinking about what the aliens wanted. And what HS might have to do with their presence on our planet. Some people are saying that the HS virus is just something native to the alien’s home planet and has been affecting their people for years. Others have said that the virus may be a botched attempt at a bio-weapon. But I don’t buy those answers. I’ve come to a terrifying conclusion.

  Carlos:And that is?

  Nick:Let me pose a question. How do you invade a planet? Sure, we’ve all seen ‘War of the Worlds,’ but could you actually do that? Not likely. We’ve got about six billion people on this planet, think of the logistical nightmare in bringing enough troops and equipment to win the war. You’d need a billion soldiers. That isn’t practical. You could use nuclear bombs of course, but then all you win is a shattered husk. Perhaps a biological weapon would kill off the native population, but you could never be sure that a mutated strain would kill your people too. So, what do you do? You invent the HS virus.

  Carlos (coyly):I’m not sure I follow...

  Nick:It is my contention that the aliens have created a virus that changes humans in such a
way that their children are genetically the same as the alien race. Now, what would happen as more and more alien children start appearing? Well, my research has shown that in the majority of families with HS children, the parents’ instinctual bonds towards their children are weakened. Not in every case, of course, but because the kids are not genetic descendents of the parents, there is a disruption. You see it now every day. More and more HS kids are winding up abandoned on the streets. In some less civilized countries infanticide of HS kids is more common than raising them.

  Carlos:What does it all mean?

  Nick:As the family structure begins to break down, these ‘alien’ kids will begin to feel, well... ‘alien.’ They know they’re different, society will treat them different. Their parents will resent them, society will resent them. They will begin to form their own society, throwing off the conventions of their elders, with whom they share no particular bond. As time progresses more and more ‘alien’ children will be born, eventually becoming the majority. Then the extraterrestrial ‘parents’ return. Who will this majority of ‘earth aliens’ side with? The invaders of course. So neat and tidy they’ve invaded our planet without a shot. Not a man lost on their side and they annex a fully industrialized planet already prestocked with loyal citizens. It’s really a brilliantly efficient idea when you think about it.

  Carlos:Let’s turn to you Dr. Violin. What to do about it?

  Richard:That’s a good question. My book advocates creating orphanages to house and watch these children. If they are kept from normal society and given a proper indoctrination, perhaps they won’t pose as much of a problem. At least it will keep them away from uninfected people. You may have noticed that militia groups calling themselves ‘Patriot Brigades’ have begun to sprout up, swearing to ensure loyalty. A well-armed militia is the key to a strong, united America. The founding fathers knew it. We should follow their example.