The Thrice Born Page 12

  “It’s our first anniversary,” he said needlessly as she turned, and then stopped abruptly as he got a better look at her.

  She was taller, and he naturally looked to her feet, only to discover she was off the floor. Her feet hovered several inches off the hardwood floor, seemingly to float. He looked to her face quickly.

  She smiled at his surprise.

  And then he looked to her stomach. Her abdomen was enlarged, a sudden change from that morning when Jason had seen her last.

  She giggled at his speechlessness. “I’m pregnant, silly.”

  She slowly settled to the floor and he approached her, putting aside the shock, and then tenderly touched her belly. It was taut but not severely tight yet, smooth and without a doubt much rounder.

  “We’re pregnant?” He smiled wider, encircling her somewhat larger girth with both arms, pulling her close. “So quickly. My God, Estelle, since...since this morning you’re showing?”

  She nodded, sighing as his arms tightened around her.

  He hugged her as snuggly as he dared, dismissing the oddities and her levitation. He kissed the top of her head, face buried in soft blonde curls. “Perfect, darling.”

  Within a month, however, Jason wasn’t so certain about how perfect the pregnancy was. Estelle was healthy, by all appearances, and reported no discomfort. Her appetite was just as normal as ever, her mood pleasant.

  Aside from the levitating that day and a few more times, Jason should have been a happy father-to-be; but he knew too much, and at the same time too little, to think that the pregnancy was to be anything but typical. His hunch was confirmed during the sonogram at Estelle’s second visit during her first trimester.

  Dr. Bryant took him to the side in the examination room as Estelle dressed behind the curtain farther back. He was a well-practiced OB-GYN, had seen enough to know when to worry and when not to worry a mother, especially a first-time mother. This time, however, he decided to share a few of his concerns with the father.

  He switched on the ultrasound monitor and stood to one side so that Jason could see the black and white image clearly. “I’ve had my technician look at these and he’s not reached a definite conclusion, Jason,” Dr. Bryant said in a low tone, aware of Estelle behind the curtain, “but I think you should know. These,” he said, pointing to the triangular sweep of the ultrasound showing the young fetus in vitro, “are the arms, legs, head, backbone. An active child, but large, I must say.”

  Jason nodded, knowing full well Estelle was larger than a woman should be at her stage of pregnancy. His concern was the hazy, loose yarn appearance of mass at the baby’s spine. “What are those, Doctor?”

  “Frankly, I don’t know,” Dr. Bryant admitted, clearing his throat. “They are somehow connected to his spinal column, and may be thin membrane. At this point I believe it to be a cluster of nerve ganglia, or at worst, cartilage. These,” he said, pointing to several small spike-like nubs at the baby’s back, “are what appear to be protrusions, which I believe to be thin, bone-like structures.”

  Jason felt a cold rush of blood course through his brain. “Is the child deformed?”

  “I don’t know.” Dr. Bryant took off his glasses, pausing the movement of the pulsating ultrasound image. “It’s too early to tell. Babies have a way of absorbing some inconsistencies in development at this stage. We’ll know more soon. I’ve scheduled an endometriosis test and full blood panel. Worst case scenario, we can operate in vitro; other than that, Jason, post natal care can remedy many abnormalities.” He smiled, looking to Estelle as she came from around the curtain.

  She shared his smile, and then gave a bigger one to Jason.

  “She’s a healthy mother, and I think you have nothing to worry about until we get the results back from the blood work and other tests.” Dr. Bryant nodded to Jason. “Babies have ways of making us worry, and many times we worry for nothing.”

  Jason heard what the doctor was not saying; he’d seen the images, knew enough about the human body – even a pre-born one – to know that protrusions on a spinal column were not normal at any stage.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” he said, curious that Estelle didn’t seem worried, or even particularly interested, in the malformation. “Are you ready to go, darling?”

  Estelle nodded, giving the doctor a short nod. “Thank you, Dr. Bryant.”

  They didn’t talk about the ultrasound in the car on the way home. Jason tried to approach the subject, but Estelle coolly put the topic off. She wouldn’t talk about it the next day, either, or that weekend. It wore on Jason, the non-talking, the indifferent, almost nonchalant attitude Estelle had for what he was beginning to think of as severe deformity of their unborn child. Despite the blood work and tests scheduled for the following week, he felt the pressing need to talk to someone about the matter.

  An obstetrician would have been his first most likely candidate, but that wasn’t where Jason went for consolation. Instead, he found himself halfway across the city at one of the bungalows that burrowed in the shade of the La Casa Hotel. He rang the doorbell, which seemed to do nothing, and after pushing it again, he knocked on Corky DeLeon’s door, which looked just like half a dozen other doors on half a dozen other bungalows on the side street. Hearing a buzzing and clamoring ringing noise inside the small house that he doubted was the doorbell, he knocked again, louder.

  “Coming!” Corky called from inside. A moment later the door opened, and Corky’s face registered a mixture of surprise and welcome. “Hey, Jason. Come on in. Sorry, I turned off the bell.”

  Jason stepped into the small room which was made even smaller by the piles of gadgets cluttering every possible flat surface. It had once been fashioned after the famous Hollywood studio bungalows during the town’s heyday of starlet and movie mogul-run careers from the 1930s and forties, but now it, like the others lining Corky’s street, were simply cute hideaways for the more eclectic of Vegas’ minds. Jason figured Corky fit right in. He stared at some of the wired devices crowding the few pieces of furniture and thick drapes.

  One, which seemed to be Corky’s masterpiece at the moment, resembled the innards of a slot machine. It was leaned to the semi-shabby love seat, and it was buzzing from inside.

  Jason nodded to it. “What’s that?”

  Corky grinned and went to the skeletal-looking machine. “A slot protector. I’m testing it out.” He patted the top metal framing. “When a player slips a cheating device into the machine, the alarm goes off. Don’t worry; this isn’t from The Crib, but most slot machines basically run the same inside.” He glanced around at the cluttered room, suddenly realizing it was cluttered, to other eyes. “As you can see,” he said, quickly stacking some of the devices rooming on a wing chair on the floor, “I’m not really prepared for a visitor.”

  Jason waved away the younger man’s attempts to make room for him. “That’s fine. This is an impromptu visit, but...but, I realize we don’t know each other very well, and, but I thought maybe you’d be willing to talk to me.”

  Corky grinned, this time nodding almost eagerly, as if predicting where this conversation could possibly go. “Oh, did you choose me because you and I both appear to be into various forms of absolute strangeness?”

  Jason gave him a shrewd look. “Why do you say that?”

  “I use ghost meters on strange women with telekinetic powers; you marry them.” Corky shrugged. “I’d say that’s like minds in a few fields.”

  He didn’t want to admit it, but Jason nodded. “You could be right about that.”

  As much as Corky could enjoy tactlessness, he backed off from enjoying that too much at the expense of another man’s wife, especially a man like Jason, who, if rubbed the wrong way, could likely see that Corky never worked in Vegas again. “How is Estelle, anyway?”

  “Pregnant.”

  Corky nodded. “Charming. Boy or girl?”

  “Boy.” The news had come just that morning, leading him and Estelle into another conversation. Jason didn�
�t want to call it an argument, because it wasn’t – she refused to argue – but it had been an uncomfortable discourse over what he saw as an issue with the child’s physical features. Estelle insisted there was nothing to talk about. Nothing wrong.

  Corky smiled. “Well, at least you can support him. Count your blessings.”

  “Something’s wrong with the fetus.” There was little reaction from Corky, almost as if he’d expected as much. Jason added: “He has a deformity it seems.”

  “How do you know?”

  “We did an ultrasound a few days ago.”

  “What did Estelle say?”

  “She wasn’t concerned.” Jason glanced around the room, not seeing the faded beige walls and dark green trim work in need of fresh painting, his mind on the baby. “She either didn’t care or she didn’t believe it. She wasn’t callous or anything; don’t get me wrong. But it was right there in the sonogram. The proof. And she wasn’t curious or worried at all. You’d think she’d have questions. Medical questions, mothering questions.”

  Corky rubbed the back of his neck, focusing on the slot machine on the love seat. “She probably doesn’t think it’s a deformity. That’s my guess, anyway. Remember what you’re dealing with.”

  Jason’s attention snapped to him. He wasn’t angry, not even upset with Corky; he did, however, want someone to tell him levelly what was going on with his unborn son. And his wife. “Tell me; what exactly am I dealing with?”

  Corky’s defenses raised a notch, holding Jason’s attention. “Why do you think I know?”

  “Because you do.” Jason looked around the room. Down the small hall he could see what appeared to be Corky’s bedroom. A floor length mirror was against the far wall, angled so that it reflected the room’s interior. In it Jason could see the walls were lined with books, hiking and scuba gear leaned against the shelving, posters of famous UFO movies and phenomena hanging on every available inch of space. Beside the mirror was a nightstand with an industrial strength juicer. Several oranges lay on the floor with old, hardened orange peels.

  Jason looked back to Corky; the brief glimpse at the bedroom summed up – to Jason’s calculations – that Corky was well on his way to permanent bachelorhood, given his habits and interests. But, he also recalled, those interests were what had made him seek out the technologically-gifted young man. He looked Corky in the eye.

  “I’m appealing to you as a friend.”

  Corky’s tact slipped, his reservations in force. He’d seen disbelievers during their moment of initial belief before.

  “I’m living in a state of, I guess you could call it mindless, superstitious fear,” Jason admitted, sighing. “There are things going on, phenomena...”

  “Tell me about it.” Corky’s tone wasn’t judgmental; quite the opposite. Almost inviting. “I’ve been having visitations since I’ve been nine.” He was about to say more, but then decided on something else. After all, a picture was worth a thousand words, and he had a room worth thousands. “Let me show you something, Jason.”

  He led Jason down the short hall, but not all the way back to the bedroom where the mirror revealed his hobbies and paranoia study. He stopped after the bathroom at the spare bedroom and opened the door. Inside revealed a room, arranged almost like a shrine. Hundreds of candles on makeshift shelving and every sort of candelabra imaginable from antique to dollar store were set with candles around the room. On the walls were angel posters from religious to art nouveau, from haunting Doré biblical etchings to Erté knockoffs. Statues of Catholic sainthood caliber and Christmas decorations lined a full shelf, all turned to the center back wall. Not all the candles were lit, but most had been at sometime in the past. At present, over two dozen were aflame, giving the room a dancing, shadowy appearance and unneeded warmth.

  The warm feeling seemed to invade Jason’s psyche and find a resting spot among his most recent fears.

  Corky cleared his throat. “No one has ever seen this room, Jason. Only you.”

  Jason finally said the words that came to mind when he thought of Corky. “Oh, my God! Look at this, Corky. You’re buried in strangeness.” His eyes rested on a few of the angel pictures before moving to some of the white onyx statues. “Are you implying that all this has something to with my son? That, in some way, to some people,” he said, shaking his head, not wanting to utter to words aloud, “that his condition is normal?”

  “I didn’t say people,” Corky reminded. “I said normal to Estelle. Or, at least, let’s say, expected.”

  “I don’t understand.” Jason shook his head, negating the too real surreal feeling engulfing him. “I don’t –”

  “I say you do; you do know something.”

  Parts of Dr. Bryant’s conversation from that morning came back to him. He’d expected it, given the size of Estelle, of their unborn child, but he hadn’t wanted to hear it. “You know, they’re telling me they might have to use drugs to suppress his size.”

  Corky nodded. “I’m not surprised.” He returned Jason’s sharp look with a shrug. “Hey, I’m not a father yet and my sisters haven’t gotten around to the whole mother thing, but I gotta say, I’m not surprised.” He nodded to one of the taller, thinner angel statues that was draped in burgundy and cream robes. “Those dimensions are about right. Tall. And speaking of dimensions...”

  Jason’s attention on him turned to a warning, but he kept that out of his tone. “Then explain it to me.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Oh?” The edge came to Jason’s tone despite his usual control. “If you don’t know, then why did you let me in your ‘secret’ room?”

  “All right,” Corky said, “but you’re treading on very speculative areas. You have to decide for yourself,” he cautioned. “You have to –”

  “I’m an adult, Corky. Get on with it.”

  “Let me read you something.” Corky stepped carefully among the shelving and stands to reach the top of an angel-laden bookshelf. He reached down a well-worn Bible and turned to the first few chapters of Genesis. He easily found his spot, although he’d already committed the verses, and many other passages, to memory. “‘There were giants in the earth in those days; and also after that, when the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men, which were of old, men of renown,’” he read gravely. “That’s Genesis 6:4.”

  “That’s not prophecy, Corky; that’s ancient history.”

  “Let’s say that there are certain genetic problems that occur when you crossbreed humans and other species.”

  Jason felt a lurching in the pit of his stomach. “Other species?” He looked around the room, gaze resting on a white clay statue on a shelf. It was a male angel holding a sword overhead in his left hand as he stepped on the head of a dragon lying at his feet. Jason shook his head. “No...”

  Corky nodded. “And if your son is born of you and Estelle, he carries both your genetic histories. DNA. The historical imprint of your ancestors.”

  Now the shifting in the pit of Jason’s stomach grew to a lurch.

  Corky nodded. “You thought it first, not me, Jason. What do you think she is?”

  “...I don’t know.”

  Corky sighed in frustration. “Come on, Jason. My guess is that she does other things besides play spectacular roulette. Be honest with me.”

  “She floats,” Jason finally said. If he couldn’t tell Corky this type of thing, whom could he? “Visibly, inches off the floor. Sometimes I can see right through her. She’s translucent, like her very skin is transparent, like thin tissue paper, not merely anemic.” He looked around the room at the shimmering shadows thrown on the walls by the candlelight and angel statues. “Like a hologram. Sometimes I can even see right into her. I can see her internal organs, Corky; particularly, her heart. It’s unnerving.”

  “Like I said about dimension, Jason. Her proper place of residence is a celestial plane. That’s why she appears so transient, so temporal. She
really isn’t at home in this world. This realm.”

  Jason did his best to let the obscurities of that statement slide for the moment. “So, what about my son?”

  “He’s not just your son.”

  “Then...?”

  “Follow it through, Jason.” Corky’s attention went to their surroundings. “He’s half in this world and half in another. ‘...the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bare children to them, the same became mighty men, which were of old, men of renown.’ In your case, the gender blend is slightly different, but you catch my drift.”

  Jason sighed, half in desperation to know the truth, whatever it may be, and half in surrender. “What is Estelle about then? Tell me in plain words. Make it crystal clear.”

  “How clear can I make it?”

  Corky waved his hand around the room, stopping where a tall shelf of pottery shards from archaeological excavations from Iran and Iraq were carefully lined. Bas relief in ring-shaped pottery depicted ancient battlefields with Mesopotamian era warriors fighting against a very tall army. And losing, it appeared, in the pottery scenes. “Are you in denial, Jason?”

  The slow trembling in Jason’s stomach made him regret his need for proof, but there was no going back now. His eyes narrowed on the fragments, gaze sifting over the small pieces Corky had collected from God only knew where.

  “I want to know the rest, Corky,” he said, keeping his tone as level as he could manage. “All of it.”

  Corky gave Jason as much as he knew, as much as he thought the casino owner could handle on the subject that afternoon. When they’d finished later, Jason wanted to know more.

  “The stuff you’re hiding, Corky,” Jason emphasized. “I want to go into this with my eyes open, knowing everything.”

  “No one knows it all,” Corky told him as he restacked the piles of books he’d brought out on the subject. It had taken half an hour to clear enough room in the small kitchenette for the books and research, but the counter and card table were full of paperwork.