Open Aperture (Evangeline Book 1) by Millicent Anglin

Author:Millicent Anglin [Anglin, Millicent]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gap Year Press
Published: 2018-06-19T05:00:00+00:00

I warmed to my new home as winter thawed into spring. My baby, who I named Nate Jr., gave me hope and purpose despite the lack of progress in finding his father. I learned to accept sympathy, deflect suspicion, and keep my anxieties to myself.

Days took on a routine and long hours left little time to worry about the future. Alice, our de facto den mother, woke us at 6 am. Diminutive in stature and dour by nature, she was one of the house’s first residents. She had five children and a husband, but rarely spoke of them or much else. Each morning her vacuum cleaner did the talking and it didn’t shut up until all twenty female residents were on their feet.

Besides our common affliction, we were a hodgepodge of ages, races, and backgrounds. Shame forced them from their homes and many wandered the streets until debilitating delusions forced them to seek help. All praised Dr. Therion for saving them from an itinerant, despondent existence. If he was a patron saint, they—we—were his devoted acolytes.

No later than 7 am, we headed to the cafeteria. Usually, the men were already there. Male and female dorms were on opposite sides of the cafeteria, and a thumbprint scanner ensured secure access to each. Despite the physical separation, clandestine hook-ups were common and not limited to the dorms. Recently, rumors of stolen work breaks caused the powers that be to replace the frosted glass in the conference rooms with clear.

I had to get used to some things—the lack of privacy, the rigid schedule, the cliques that reminded me of high school—but the food wasn’t one of them. Chef Theo operated the kitchen like his personal fiefdom and ran it with the same iron fist that made his Michelin-starred restaurant a success. Every meal was a surprise and delight. Carrot-ginger soup, French toast on brioche bread, and sautéed spinach with garlic and pine nuts were among my favorite staples.

“Ready?” Bill asked, taking the seat across from me. Rotund despite daily laps on the treadmill, he blamed his shape on his sixty-year-old metabolism rather than his third helpings of each meal. He contracted NSI two years ago but he didn’t talk much about his old life. No one did.

“I suppose,” I said, tucking into French toast and Canadian bacon. Despite the varied breakfast buffet, I always went for the same thing.

“This is going to be the biggest shipment yet,” Bill mumbled around a mouthful of scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes. He winked at Lola, who also worked at the shelter, as she sat down beside me.

“They’re not cargo,” I said. “They’re people. Exactly like us.”

“Well, not exactly. We have better luck than they do.” He pointed his fork at me for emphasis before spearing a sausage link.

“Speak for yourself,” Lola and I chorused.

“I’ve got an incurable disease that I’m going to pass on to my child,” I said. “I don’t see anything lucky about that.”

“Just because you were an investment banker and pulled a few strings to get in here doesn’t mean you’re better than them,” Lola said.

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