Gen 8 Ch 12: The Creature in the Cave

Before the last of the spring frosts had left Appaloosa Plains, Icarus had grown old enough to start school and become a voracious reader.

Ivy may have been the younger one, but she was never far behind her cousin.

In fact, it was him who had trouble keeping up sometimes.

"It's almost bedtime," Ivy observed, "Why are you playing with that dumb toy oven now? Grandma won't let you eat cake before bed."

Icarus continued to stir the cake mixture carefully. "It's not for eating--well, not right now anyway. I just like the way it makes my room smell. I've been getting whiffs of this weird stink lately and I can't figure out why, but baking makes it better."

Ivy couldn't suppress a smirk as she eyed the jars on the top shelf. A week ago she'd hidden a dead lizard in one of them and Icarus still hadn't found it. Fun!

"It probably stinks in here because you're so icky," Ivy said as her cousin gingerly pushed his cake mix into the oven, "All boys are, but you in particular. That's why your mom called you Icky-rus!"

Icarus frowned. “That’s not true.”

"Is too!”

“At least I'm not named after a weed!”

“Ivy isn’t a weed, it's an evergreen!" The girl puffed out her chest and glared at her cousin. "My mom told me she picked the name because ivy is so resi-resili--strong. It never stops growing, even in winter. And it has poison so bugs won’t try to eat it. And it’s pretty. And totally awesome.”

"That is kind of cool,” Icarus admitted. At that moment the toy oven gave a short ding indicating that it was done and he bent to pull out his cupcake, only to start working on the next one.

Ivy sighed and got up. She had enough of pestering her cousin for today. He was much more difficult to annoy than most people, which posed a fun challenge on most days, but tonight she was getting tired.

"I'm going to bed," she announced. "Have fun making your stinky cakes, Icky-rus!"

 Compared to Icarus' room, which was overflowing with all sorts of toys, Ivy's little nook in the attic looked positively bleak. Perhaps that was the reason why she delighted so much in her recent prank.

While Icarus was oblivious to what his cousin had done, he did know how jealous she was of his room and the many toys in it. Most children would be, he knew.

But to Icarus, most of these toys were connected with strange dreams of a shadowy figure entering his room at night to watch him sleep. He'd long since figured out that it was his mother, home late from long hours at the lab or venturing out of her basement at odd hours because she'd lost track of time. His mother loved him and wanted to check on him, Icarus' grandmother had explained, and the toys she brought showed how he never left her thoughts.

Icarus knew he was supposed to be grateful when he woke up to another new toy in his room, but he could never shake the feeling of unease.

It made him feel unbelievably guilty to think this, but Icarus would have traded his room and all of his toys for parents like Ivy's.

Sure, even a child could tell that they spent no more time talking with each other than was strictly necessary. But Ivy had two parents, and while they didn't live together, it was obvious that they both cared about her very much. As for Icarus... well, sometimes it felt like he didn't even have one.

Sometimes he made his way through the stable and down the creaky spiral staircase into the basement. It was full of odd devices and even though it was brightly lit, it reminded Icarus of a dark cave in a story he had once read.

 In that story the hero had entered the cave and found a strange creature dwelling within. Wide-eyed and pale, it was as unpredictable as it was terrifying.

Icarus had never liked that story.

He approached with trepidation, step by careful step so he wouldn't startle her.

 “Mom,” he said tentatively. Hazel did not look up. “Mom,” he tried again, louder this time.

 Hazel spun around, her eyes wide with dark circles underneath. She looked like some nocturnal animal, caught in the bright beam of a flashlight. Icarus flinched, but regained his composure quickly. “Do you… do you want to play with me, maybe?” he offered.

He stood frozen while his mother stared at him, unblinking. Then her gaze softened. “Of course, sweetie,” she said. “Here, let’s play holo-chess!”

Icarus’ brow furrowed. He’d been thinking of one of his video games, Bounceman, maybe, or even Duck Attack. But getting his mother’s attention was difficult enough, so he’d take what he was offered.

Icarus sat at the holo-chess table, shifting uncomfortably on the hard chair. His mother had sat down across from him, set up the board with a few cryptic movements of her hands and explained the rules far too quickly, much like all of her movements.

A few turns into the game Icarus was already hopelessly lost. He reached for one of his pieces--a knight, he recalled. The one in his grandfather's chess set was shaped like a horse, but this one consisted only of two pointy polygons. The weirdest part about holo-chess was that he couldn't actually feel the chess pieces he touched, yet they moved around when he pushed them. Like magic. But no, science, his mother would correct him. Holograms.

Icarus mimed pinching the piece and moved it forward. The bluish hologram knight followed his movement for an instant, then became suddenly red and returned back to its original position with an admonishing bzzt sound.

“Nuh uh,” his mother smiled and pointed at the smaller chess board suspended above the big one. “You need to free up your move here first. Remember, it’s like chess squared! Don’t forget that there is another layer to this!”

“Oh,” Icarus said, “sorry. So… uhm…”

But his mother’s eyes had glazed over as she slowly repeated her words, “Don’t forget that there is another layer to this…”.

Within an instant, Hazel had sprung up and returned to her whiteboard, muttering to herself. It was as if she'd completely forgotten that Icarus was still sitting there. So, after a while, he got up and trudged back upstairs.

***

Icarus liked kitchens. They were always warm and cozy and usually his aunt or grandma were there, making something delicious.

He sat watching his aunt forming burger patties out of tofu. Ivy said tofu was gross and always complained that her mom never cooked 'real hamburgers', but Icarus liked his aunt's cooking. A few weeks ago, after he'd noticed his aunt's belly growing bigger and bigger, he'd asked her if it was because she ate too much yummy food. She'd laughed and said that it was a baby cousin for Icarus growing in her belly. She'd even explained how it got there, though Icarus had had some trouble following. Still, he appreciated that his aunt never tried to keep secrets like other adults often did.

“Aunt Hux?”

“Hm?”

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“So I’ve been reading this book—“

“Big mistake.”

“— and there’s this story about a boy called Icarus. His dad, Daedalus, makes wings out of feathers and wax so they can fly, but he warns Icarus not to go too close to the sun or the wax will melt. But Icarus doesn’t listen and flies too high and his wings melt and he dies.” He'd said all of this very quickly and had to pause a moment to catch his breath before he continued, “Do you think Mom named me after that Icarus?”

Huxley put down the patty she'd been shaping and tilted her head at her nephew. “Well, it does sound dorky enough to be something she’d do,” she allowed. “But I really don’t know. Why don’t you go ask her?”

 “Nah,” Icarus replied with a sigh, kicking his feet and looking down.

“Why not?”

“She’s probably busy. I don’t want to bother her.”

Walking down all those stairs was tedious at the best of times, and Huxley's pregnant waddle had not made it any easier. But as expected, she found her sister in her basement lab, scribbling calculations on the whiteboard.

“Hazel, normally I don’t mind taking care of your kid for you. Icarus is a sweetheart and anyway, I’m pretty rad, as far as aunts go," Huxley began, "But he’s been asking me questions I really can’t answer. Questions for his mother.” She paused for a moment, waiting in vain for Hazel to acknowledge her presence. When Hazel continued to write, Huxley's tone grew more insistent. “You have to spend some time with your son, Hazel.”

Hazel didn’t look up. “We were playing holo-chess just before.”

“That was three days ago!” Huxley snapped. Finally, Hazel turned to stare at her, with genuine confusion in her bloodshot eyes. Huxley softened. “Look, I appreciate your whole mad scientist shtick as much as anyone, but this is getting out of hand. Don’t you think it’s time to stop this?”

Hazel furrowed her brow. “I need to bring Aidan back, you know that,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Huxley's voice was still uncharacteristically soft as she chose her next words very carefully. “I know you think that you can bring him back, but Hazel, there are things even science can’t do. Aidan is gone. Dead. He’s not coming back, ever. You need to stop thinking about him and focus on the living. Icarus needs you to be a parent.”

“What Icarus needs is TWO PARENTS!” Hazel snapped. Then her furious grimace turned into a sneer as she gestured to Huxley's pregnant belly. “Not like you’d know. Do you even remember who this one’s father is?!”

Huxley gasped. Her first instinct was to attack, to curl her fist into a ball and ram it into flesh and bone until there was blood. Instead, she exhaled slowly and turned around.

As she watched her sister walk away, Hazel frowned. She'd regretted what she'd said as soon as the words had passed her lips and she was honestly shocked at her own nastiness.

But Huxley had been mean first, saying all that stuff about Aidan. Stop thinking about him? How could she ever?

Hazel turned back to her calculations. No one understood. No one ever had... except Aidan.

At first Huxley had been proud of herself for not giving in to her rage, but now she began to wonder if it had been the healthy thing to do. It felt strange to just swallow it down, almost like a heavy rock had dropped into her stomach. Was this was other people usually did? The feeling was getting increasingly unpleasant, like a dull backache or something pressing against her pelvis from the inside... wait.

She had gone into labor!

Hours later Huxley arrived back home, exhausted but happy. There was a hastily erected wooden arch with curtains dividing the room, to at least give some semblance of privacy. It would have to do for now.

The sleeping arrangement wasn't perfect...

...but baby Idris certainly was.