Changing Tides

Every minute of every day was scheduled carefully as though the world would fall into the sun if anything more or less happened. All was anticipated and the unexpected was a distant myth once told to children before tucking them in for a long night's sleep. The man came to wake me each morning at six, precisely that second he would open the door and call my name. I often wondered if he waited for a few moments outside watching the secondhand of a clock or watch just to be on time. I asked him once but he ignored me entirely. It wasn't at all uncommon for that, though it made me feel like he didn't even want me around

He was the closest thing I had to a father figure so it stung when he'd turn a cold shoulder, shunning me. Though it happened so frequently I couldn't get over it, I guess part of me just refused to let go.

"I do wait outside your door, sometimes for half an hour so I don't forget," he told me one day, taking my arm and injecting something from a rather large needle.

Confusion swept over me as he confessed  the answer to my most repeated question.

"You don't usually see me after that until noon or later because I try to get in some sleep," he explained further without needing any inquiry. "Because I can't sleep at night most times. I just lay awake looking at... at the ceiling. The man that stays in my room is named Raziel, he has strict orders not to touch you or make any contact with you. He's also my best friend, though I'd never tell him because he'd get all mushy on me, and that for him is weird."

For a few moments I kept silent, curious if there was more. He didn't speak again so I asked, "What's your name?"

The man smiled at me, handing me my vitamins and a glass of water. "Dr. Michael Angelo. You can call me Mike."

It was strange, the way he just opened up to me like that. I had been there for however long my memories go back, a couple years at most, but he'd always been so cold to me. Not that I was complaining, he had a big brother vibe about him, as though he was safe to be around.

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The day wore me out as always. After all the operations and medicines that fought each other I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to just fall into bed and pass out. Dinner came first though.

The mouthwatering aroma of some form of beef drifted down the hallway, through my room's cracked door, and finally to me. Testing the ability I had practiced every day for the past six months, I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Something sweet, hot... butter maybe? And a potato, cooked.. baked potato.

I opened my eyes and grinned at Mike who stood in the doorway, holding a covered plate covered in a cloth and lid. "Steak, baked potato and," I paused to smell again, "...cake!"

The doctor, with the skill of a game show host, revealed the plate with one swift movement. "Ta-dah!" He glanced at the food then to me, "How do you do that?"

I shrugged and took my meal, eating with the manners I knew not from teachings but instinct. It puzzled him, the way I sat upright, cutting the steak quickly and evenly, never once spilling anything on myself or needing a napkin at all. As amusing as it was in my eyes, it also proved that there was either something wrong with me or something wrong with him. No normal eight year old boy would eat so perfectly, or have such good posture. Then again, what grown man, a doctor no less, watches that eight-year-old's eating habits?

Prey.

That's what I seemed to him, I guessed. Deep blue eyes, as pure as the crystal river around Chris and Gale's home, watched with an abnormal level of scrutiny and bewilderment. Discomfort was evident in his shifting in place on my bed. What did he have to be nervous about? It's not like I could do anything about the experiment, no matter how badly I wanted out. I was the toy for his inner child.

"I'm sorry," he muttered after I had finished the last bit on my plate. It wasn't until I saw another figure beside him that I realized he wasn't speaking to me. "I should've known."

I heard something new in his tone, he was afraid of this stranger?

"Please excuse us, Doctor. I need a word alone with this boy." His voice was smooth, graceful in a way. Soothing yet something about it was harsh. In seconds Mike was out of the room and I was left alone with the intruder, who just sat on my bed with a look of...

I couldn't read the expression, he appeared hurt, nervous, angry? No..

It wasn't something I could see in his face or eyes, but something I felt, or rather, I heard as a whisper in the air around me. Speechless, that's what it was. He was stricken by our similarities, though we barely had any. He looked proper, a businessman without a tie. Well-dressed, high class, as opposed to my messy X-Files t-shirt and ripped jeans. My shoes however were clean. Very clean, I wouldn't have them any other way. The only things we really had in common was our pale complexion, scrawny build, and yellow hair that styled itself in the same way, though mine had a few black streaks here and there.

"Xakkery, am I right?" I nodded. He let his bangs fall over his eyes, I almost smiled as I had the same habit and wondered if he blew them out of his eyes the way I did as well.. He looked up at me with a new confidence, "My name is Avian Desire, Michael hasn't told you anything about me has he?"

"No, sir," I tried to be polite.

"I figured not." He adjusted his collar slightly, as if looking for something, anything, to do with his hands. "How do I put this? I, well that is, I was told that I am of relation to you." He glanced around then back to me and, since I waited silently, continued. "This may be difficult for you, but you are mine. My spawn, no, offspring..."

A laugh almost escaped me as he began stumbling over words, an accent showing through.

"You're my Dad," I stated bluntly, watching in amusement as he flinched.

"Yes, I've been told that is a fact. Undeniable proof will be a requirement, of course."

I nodded, "Of course."

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It was a lie, I thought to myself. Someone was staging this. It was a sick joke that I had subconsciously decided to play along with. I had no family, no friends, nothing. I was nobody, nothing of importance, so this entire plot was for their amusement. Yet, deep inside me was a spark of hope, a need almost. I wanted a father, I wanted a home. Still I pushed the hope aside, firmly telling myself that it wasn't true.

The test would prove it.

Scientific fact, an undeniable proof as he called it, would show that we were not related. I had requested to be present for the analysis in case someone attempted to swap blood samples or something. Mike didn't know that I knew exactly how it worked, the machines, the testing, the human body itself. In fact, I seemed very in tune with the bodies that surrounded me each day, feeling the pulse of their blood through veins, quickening as they waited in anticipation. It made my own heart race.

I understood how it all worked except one thing. Those whispers on the wind, those little suggestions at the back of my mind, sharing thoughts with me that were neither my own nor spoken. Many times mere seconds after hearing them an occupant of the same room would speak the opinion, maybe in a more polite or thought out form, but still the same. It was as if I was hearing the thoughts of everyone near me.

I hope he is the father, I heard, listening intently for any hints of sly manipulation of results. The voice sounded more clear than the others, actually having a sort of recognizable form or voice. Usually the thoughts I 'heard' we're actually words but.. well.. feelings I suppose. It's difficult to describe. Sort of like when you hear your minds voice speak to you but it has none at the same time? Ah, well.. it doesn't matter I suppose.

Mike sat in a corner of the room, watching Mr.-- no Dr. Desire, he even had his own hospitals I had been told. In his arms was a child, a little girl he held firmly. I wondered who her family was, or if she was my replacement if I was, how would I put it, rescued? Upon closer inspection I saw why he cradled her so protectively.

"A demon?" I inched closer still, peeking over his arms to her sleeping face. She appeared innocent enough, the only things that really stood out on her was the bright orange mop on her head and the small horns protruding from it. Sure her skin was an unusual dark shade, not tan, not grey, but somewhere in between, almost like an ashy brown. It could easily be explained by heritage, as I had known of a few (though it was rare) angels to have peculiar skin tones.

The good doctor just smiled at me, "Shh, don't wake her."

I backed away, not from fear of a demon on angelic terrain, but because I wanted to obey my caretaker and let her sleep. Her pulse was low, a soft hum, not normal. Her blood wasn't pumping, but was a steady flow, like a stream. I wondered if it was the nature of all demons to defy even something so simple as a beating heart.

The thought didn't last long, as I was called away. Dr. Desire picked me up, setting me on the operating table and taking my arm. "Are you nervous?" I asked, wondering what sort of answer this man could come up with. He seemed together about the whole ordeal, but something nagged at my mind that he was more jittery than I was.

After sliding a needle into one of my easy to find veins, he shook his head. "Do you feel any weakness in your legs during the day? Any loss of muscle control or random falling down?"

Funny, Mike had asked me the same thing at least once a month. "No, sir."

A hint of a smile touched his lips, though for merely a second.

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Proof that if you pray for something enough you get it. Maybe I'll pray for a mother next? No, there's no need to be too selfish.

I had been packed and ready to move out of the hospital for only a minute or two before Mike ordered me to the car. He gathered my things without much trouble, I only really had a small bag of clothes and a few books. During the car ride, the gravity of the situation really took hold of me and I started to become very nervous, fidgeting and wriggling under my seatbelt.

"Worried?"

I looked at him with an expression that could easily be read as "are you stupid?"

He just laughed, "I've seen this before, anticipation. You'll probably get really nervous, your stomach might do a couple flips. If you feel sick tell me so I can pull over, I just got the car cleaned from.." he trailed off but I got a strange mental image of a bloody Raziel grinning and climbing into the backseat, laying down for a nap.

The rest of the time remained as quiet as the grave, an expression that held true in all aspects that didn't relate to zombies or other undead rising from their slumber. When we arrived, I thought for a moment he got the wrong address. The house wasn't a house at all. It seemed more of a city built into one large dwelling. Surely there we're that many people living there to need so much space, it seemed so excessive. So he had money, big deal, no reason to buy something you don't really need. I looked past the main house, mansion, castle, whatever and saw another, slightly smaller, but still as elegant in a similar design. Two mansions. Great. I could only pray the second wasn't entirely for me as a coming home present.

Key in hand, Mike led the way over a transparent bridge, ice or glass I wasn't sure. Beneath the structure I saw assorted fish swimming swiftly and gracefully in the clear water. Peeling my eyes from a pair of dancing koi, I looked up at the large doors of my new home. Apparently the key wasn't for the front doors as Mike just walked right in. I stayed behind a minute, though, unsure if I wanted to venture into the unknown. After seeing a reassuring smile I almost skipped to his side.

It looked bigger on the inside, if it was possible. The space we had stepped into was large, open, bright. White marble it seemed, with a rather obnoxiously elegant chandelier hanging down about five stories, the prismatic crystal casting rainbows within the circumference of the lighting fixture. In truth it was quite beautiful, however flamboyant. Two staircases on either side of the room led up to a hallway, I was curious to see where it led but Mike walked right to the smaller door right below the landing, pressing a button for it to open. We stepped inside and I realized it wasn't a room, but rather an elevator. Mike pushed the button that had a scripted number three on it. The ride was so smooth I didn't even feel movement as something made a 'ding' noise and the doors slid open. Another large hall, lined with pictures, portraits of the Greek Sea-God and other ocean scenes. In between the artworks were doors, some open some closed, though I somewhat wished all were shut. Concubines were laying over couches and other furniture, women who had little reason for life. All were very beautiful but they had all had one thing in common, the craving for more. More what, I didn't care to know.

"Your room is down here," Mike said, yanking my arm lightly just as I caught myself watching one of the whores showering. "You'll have to excuse the mess of women, it's just a side effect."

"Of what?" I asked, truly curious as to how they could all be drawn to one place like that.

"Your father. Don't worry about it," he told me, reaching the end of the hall and the last door directly in front of us.

It was normal enough looking, the right size for a bedroom door, or at least the same as my hospital room's. On it was a stone knocker, shaped like the head of a trident. The key I had seem earlier slid into the old-fashioned keyhole below the glass (again I assumed it to be glass not ice for it wasn't cold) doorknob. Half expecting a high class room covered from top to bottom in diamond, I was shocked to find it empty, save for a circular bed in the center. Even it was bare, though.

"He told me to send for a decorator as soon as you decide ho you want it. This room is yours alone, no one else is allowed in but your father. So no need to worry about the tramps out there." He handed me the key. "Though he'd really rather you not have honeybee stickers all over the walls."

"I hate bees, you know that."

He laughed and nodded, no doubt remembering the time was chased by a bee, screaming like a schoolgirl to him for help. Embarrassing as it was, I still found humor in it.

"Black and yellow would be good though," I said thinking it over as I saw glass doors past the bed that led outside. I made my way to the doors, mumbling all the while, "Yellow walls with black stripes, what do you think?"

"Oh yeah he gave you a balcony room, he said you may like the view."

Like the view, what an understatement. I stepped out onto the balcony, looking over the marble railing at the lake behind his home. As expected the water was clear, clean blue with fish inhabitants. A couple trees and other various plants lines the bank, but what captivated me was the way the sun reflected in the water. With the position of my room, the sun would set in the center of the lake, no doubt a breathtaking sight that I could watch every evening. For one in my life a true happiness started to warm my heart. I smiled, running my hands over the handles of the doors as I went back into the room, letting my hands explore the walls, the carvings in the baseboards and the glistening floor. It was so much to take in, so much change in such a small time. Looking up at Mike I saw his familiar grin.

"Welcome home, Xakkery Desire."