1st 5 Pages November Workshop- Monson Rev 1

Christine Monson

YA Speculative Fantasy

The Promethean Effect

Steel gears grind overhead along thin aluminum girders. The weighted anodized-pistol rests cradled between my palms. As I wait for the targets to line up, two questions rotate on heavy cycle: Why did my brother have to die? And, will Ms. Reddington remember I prefer chocolate over spice cake this year?

Ten computerized birds drop down from the ceiling. The sensors on their tails flash red, blue, and green. Chromatic lights reflect off of the bullet-proof glass to my left and the gray cinder block wall to my right.  It doesn’t matter how quick the fake birds move or in which direction, blue is always first. I adjust my stance and squeeze the trigger. One by one, the stiff, automated fowl return to the rafters. According to my father, the electronic target system is the latest in gaming technology. I wouldn’t know. My siblings and I aren’t allowed to leave the compound.

The panel embedded into the wall beeps before Mother’s voice crackles through the intercom speaker. “Kade, come upstairs. Your father and I wish to speak with you.”

My gaze flicks to the red START button. Two-tenths of a second and I’ll have beaten the high score. Perhaps I can squeeze one more–

“Now.”

I return the pistol to the charging dock. Game over.

After tucking in my shirt and fastening the buttons on my suit jacket, I sprint across the expansive atrium to the staircase leading to the main floor of the house. Spotless, translucent gray glass surrounds me from all sides as I skid past the other training rooms. The soles of my dress shoes squeal along the glossy anti-static tiles. Like the sophisticated-gaming console, the three-story, fully-staffed house in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains is supposedly hi-tech. Again, I wouldn’t know. My brother’s unexpected death changed a lot of rules.

At the top of the stairs, the aroma of overly-peppered roast beef collides with the astringent, chlorinated-air from basement below. However, it isn’t the clash of smells that almost knocks me off my feet. It’s the intensity of Mother’s intonation and Father’s sternness. After I steady myself, I lean closer to the door and listen.

“You promised this time would be different,” Mother exclaims.

Father sighs. “He has been here two years longer than–”

“Don’t say his name.”

“Dang it, Grace. You knew this day was coming.”

“Of course, I knew, August. I’ve always known.” Mother’s tone softens. “But I want Kade to join us when he is ready. Not when they say he is ready.”

I steal a peek around the corner before taking the last final step onto the main floor. Under the three-tier chandelier, in the foyer, both of my parents face off. Mother, dressed in her usual travel attire of black slacks and sweater, stands with her hands on her hips, her golden hair tied in a loose bun on the back of her head. A dazzling display of rainbows reflects off the crystals above them, onto the white walls and marble floor. Father rolls his shirt sleeves to his elbows, his work pants wrinkled. He watches her as she moves to the other side of the round, mahogany-red table. When she closes the gap between them, he shifts his favorite brown journal and electronic pad behind his back.  

“Be their father for once,” she snaps.

Father’s face reddens. “I am not doing this now.”

He smacks his hand down on the table. Skinny orange petals rain down from the bouquet of chrysanthemums onto the polished surface. Mother sweeps the petals in her hand and deposits them in a small crystal bowl. Like me, the table and flowers don’t seem to belong in this icy world of crystal and snow-white furniture.

I step into the foyer. The basement door closes with a soft click. “Sorry to make you wait but I had to go back down and retrieve my jacket.” Honesty, I despise liars but sometimes telling my parents the truth can be dangerous.

Mother reaches out to touch me, then stops. She drops her hand back to her side. “You’ve wrinkled your dinner suit.”

I run my hands over the thick black wool of my dinner jacket. Static cracks under my fingertips. Above our heads, the bulbs flicker. “I wanted to get a few more rounds before dinner.”

Father places his free hand on Mother’s shoulder. The twins say I look like him but I don’t see it. We have the same brown hair and eyes, but while his complexion is dull and pallid from sitting under fluorescents all day, I have a ‘kissed by the skin glow’ from running outdoors every morning. “How many hours have you clocked in this week?” he asks.

“Sixteen.” The same as the age I turned today.

“That’s outstanding,” he says with a smile. However, his tone doesn’t match the expression. “Your mother and I can’t stay for dinner. We have to head back to the lab.”

“It’s important,” Mother interjects, “or we wouldn’t leave.”

What about my birthday?

On the other side of the foyer, Father’s office door opens. Sofiya Snyderman, my parents’ colleague at AIB– the Advanced Institute of Biotechnology– and family creeper steps out. The click of her high heels sends a chill up my back. I glance up at the top of the staircase. Thankfully, no one is there.

“Sofiya,” Father chokes out. A patch of black lace peeks from under the doctor’s lab coat as she treads towards us. “I thought you were in D.C.”

“Not tonight,” she purrs. “I came to oversee…Kade, my little soldat.” Soldier. Her German, Russian, and possibly Ukrainian accents blend together in a sticky dialect-pudding. The psychiatrist adjusts her short, black wig. I take a tentative step back. I have known Doctor Sofiya Snyderman my entire life, and she still sends shivers up my spine.

Father clears his throat. “We were heading to the lab. There is an issue which needs to be rectified immediately.”

Sofiya purses her thin lips, then shifts her concern to the third person in the room. “Grace,” she murmurs, “Where is Bishop?”

Mother crosses her arms. “How would I know?”

Movement at the top of the main staircase catches my interest. I shake my head in warning for my two younger siblings to stay upstairs. Behind Snyderman’s red cat glasses, her eyelids narrow.  Even though I know I am going to regret this, I grumble, “So I’m dressed in a suit for nothing.”

Mother whirls on me. “Kade Maddox, what in the world has gotten into you?”

Like Snyderman, Father’s glare constricts behind rimless eyewear. “Recite the rules,” he demands. “Immediately!”

Mother’s gaze jerks over my head. Her shoulders drop. “The rules, Kade.”

“Rule number one,” I say to the tiny white scuff on the tip of my left dress shoe, “obey authority. Rule two, never ask questions. Rule three…”

“We should go.” Mother’s eye’s flick from Father to the chandelier. Though no one is near the light switch, the brightness has doubled. “Xavier is waiting for us. Kade, Ms. Reddington made your favorite dinner. Cake is in the sitting room.”

“This is what I have been talking about, Grace. You coddle them too much.”

“And coddling encourages disobedience,” Mother quips. “Yes, I know, August. Thank you for reminding me. Again.”

With a swift strike of her foreign tongue, Sofiya Snyderman silences them. “Nyet. No more. I want Bishop’s location.”

Mother touches my arm briefly, sending a warm yet nauseating wave of prickly pain through my body. “August deals with the help around here. Interrogate him.”

A smug grin slides across Dr. Snyderman’s thin lips. “Oh, but, my dear Grace, you are so much more fun to question.”