Prologue

1942 Richland Washington

We defected to the United States of America four years ago. I was six, almost seven ... how interesting that a child feels it necessary to count in future tenses and almosts; as if they are only able to look  ahead, never back. Seven months after my sixth birthday, my family left Italy for Geneva; my father was a candidate for the Nobel Prize in physics. I remember my mother pleading with my father, when he received the invitation, " Marcello, please ... We must leave Europe before the government learns the depth of your discovery." Father nodded in response. Holding her in his arms, lightly kissing her forehead, he didn't speak a word. Tears welled in his eyes, and he held her tightly, but he didn't speak a word.

I knew why he really wanted to leave, and it didn't have anything to do with the Nazi or Italian fascist regime's thirst for scientific knowledge, or world domination. My mother was a Jew; and,
therefore, so were my sister and I. Father moved us, not to keep the Nazis from winning the war, but to save us from genocide.

Time passed, as it must, and the General only came to visit a few more times before the military arranged for us to move to the west coast, to Richland Washington. We didn't see Father very often; and during our last few months in New York, I took to sneaking into Father's Physics classes at Columbia University; so that I could just listen to his voice. I started to understand what was so important about his discovery … fission: to split apart an atomic nucleus into smaller parts, resulting in a tremendous burst of energy. The world was looking for a way to destroy itself; or the powers at be, just wanted to be able to intimidate peace into submission.  Either way, my father was going to help the United States of America become the most powerful kid on the playground, by weaponizing nuclear energy … and it frightened me.  Was I witnessing our last days, before the end of the world?

We moved to the secret army base in Richland last spring. When we first arrived, I remember Father speaking to me from the driver’s seat of our car, without taking his eyes off of the road, “Angelo, stop sulking. I think that you’ll really like it here … from what I understand, there are over three hundred days of sunshine a year, and plenty of places for you to explore and play. I think this will be a nice change from running around the streets of the Bronx. It will be quite a bit like when we stayed at your grandfather’s cottage outside Pisa … you used to love to be outdoors, playing in the sunshine.”  I could hear his words, and appreciate what he was trying to say … but all that I seemed to notice at the time, was the fact that he didn’t make eye contact. He never really looked at me anymore.

The army had purchased enough acreage to equal the size of Rhode Island; right on the bank of the Columbia River … and Father was correct there certainly were plenty of places to explore.  There weren’t many families; as a matter of fact, a good portion of the scientists were single, and preferred to call the barracks near the testing facility home.  Our little house was close enough for Father to walk to work … but the nearness didn’t seem to make a difference, as he spent most nights sleeping on the couch in his office.  My mother and sister became inseparable at that point. I would try to get involved in their activities, only to be shunned by my sister for intruding on their private time. She had become virtually intolerable since turning fifteen.

I liked to walk along the river bank, and watch the fish. The sound of the water had a mesmerizing effect that allowed me to try and forget what was happening to my family … what my father was trying to build. It’s interesting how distance can apply to a physical measurement of space, as well as the intangible measurement of emotions that are being pulled apart and muffled by indifference.

At night, I would lie on a soft bed of folded grass and watch the Aurora Borealis skim across the sky. Magic … I couldn’t imagine the ribbons of color as having any other explanation; until Father blatantly explained that there was no such thing as magic. I didn’t care what he said … I could feel the enchantment of the world around me as I explored our covert home in Washington. Even though I was alone more often than not, I felt the memories of the land, the whispers of the river, the embrace of the star filled night sky, and I was never lonely.

Toward the end of summer, I noticed something very strange working its way up the river. It rode on the backs of the steelheads and salmon … red tinted algae with little white pearls that looked like mistletoe berries. I rarely fished, but wanting a closer look at the growths on their scales led me to put together a makeshift fishing pole.  Easier than what I thought was possible, I pulled in a large steelhead trout. It didn’t fight me; and although the thought that it had to be sick crossed my mind, I felt sure that wasn’t the case.  I understood, as I pulled the fish on to the bank, it wanted to show me what was hitchhiking on its back … and it simply didn’t see me as a threat.

Crouching down, I ran my finger along its slick scales and scooped up some of the berries. Holding the small white spheres close to my nose, I saw swirls of life circling just below the surface.  These weren’t berries or pearls … they were eggs. However, they weren’t like any kind of egg I’d ever seen before.

Before sitting down in the mud to study my prize, I pushed the trout back into the water with my foot.  The moisture from the dirt soaked into the back of my pants as I sat, and I knew I’d be returning home with stains … but I no longer cared. Pulling my legs in close to my chest, I rested my chin on my knees and watched whatever was underneath the skin of the eggs churn with every exhale of my breath. Purples and blues pressed against the soft transparent shell, and then twirled back into their milky cores. They shone in the in the sun like an opal; and for a moment, I thought about taking them back for my mother to see … they were so beautiful.

Between the damp ground, and the setting sun, I started to become chilled. I hadn’t realized that I’d spent most of the day watching the opal eggs, until it started to get dark and my stomach grumbled. Standing up, I gently slid my treasures into my pocket and walked back to the base. I didn’t actually want to go home … I wanted to sit and stare at the colors forever. There was comfort in the movement, the swaying swirls … something I recognized from when I was a toddler and Mother would sit with me in her lap. She would rock gently, and purr “Shhh, shhh little Angel. The nightmares are gone now Baby.”

As I entered the house, I heard my mother and sister talking in the kitchen. Following their voices, I stepped through the doorway to find them standing next to the sink shucking and rinsing corn on the cob. My mother turned with a gasp, and then spoke with barely restrained frustration. After saying something about my filthy appearance, and needing to take a bath before dinner, she turned her eyes away. I miss the way her eyes used to smile when she looked at me.

Slowly making my way upstairs to the bathroom, I absentmindedly stuck my hand into the pocket that held the eggs. Cringing, I realized what I'd done as soon as I felt some of them burst. Pulling my fingers out, and inspecting them, I found a dark iridescent oily substance covering my nails as if it was paint. It seemed to be spreading up my hand, and quickly absorbing into my pores.

I am no stranger to messy hands; and I wouldn't have been nearly as alarmed if the liquid wasn't acting like it was alive: aggressively spreading with purpose. I wiped my fingers on my pants, hoping to rub away the glistening tar … but it stuck to my skin like died glue. Running the rest of the way to the bathroom, I threw open the door and plunged my hands under the faucet. Scrubbing and scratching at the glove that was now encasing my hand, I allowed the water to run hot enough to scald my skin. Finally, the oil seemed to be rinsing away as my fingers changed from muddled metallic purple, and blue to an angry bright red.

After turning off the water, I looked down at my pants to see that the broken eggs were soaking through my pocket. Quickly stripping off my clothes, startled and afraid, I watched as the glistening purple goop crept down my leg, and up my side. Frantically trying to brush it away, I was taken aback as it returned to my hands. Rushing to the shower, I turned on the hot water and climbed in. Pain stabbed at my head and back, everywhere the blistering droplets hit exposed skin. Turning so that the only the tar was under the spray, I was surprised to see that it was not only unaffected by the water but it was protecting me from further injury. Strangely horrorstricken and impressed, I watched as it grew to cover the areas of my skin that had been scalded. As soon as it covered my wounds, the pain disappeared and was replaced with a cool soothing sensation.

Trying to free myself from what I imagined to be a cocoon forming around my entire body, I tried to slide my fingertips under the edges and peal it away. I failed of course; the more I moved against it, the more quickly it seemed to learn and press forward.  Slumping down on the bathtub floor, I started to cry as the shower turned cold. Letting the sobs run dry, I curled up into a ball and shivered. What was going to happen next? Would it try to spread to my family? Would it hurt them? I should warn them.

Quite suddenly, my fear started to drain away, leaving me numb under the freezing water … and incredibly tired. Through my haze of exhaustion, my thoughts tried to convince me that it would be best to go to bed, rather than try to talk to my mother and sister. For some reason, I wasn't worried about what was growing around my body any longer … my mind simply blocked it out, and replaced it with a need to find a secluded place to lie down and sleep. I knew that if I tried to avoid dinner though, my mother would never leave me alone. She would come looking for me … and would be vulnerable.

Wrapped up in a towel, still dripping wet, I tiptoed past the stairs and headed toward my bedroom. After slipping into my pajama pants, I looked down to find that my chest and stomach had changed color. My skin was no longer pink and healthy, and the tar was no longer dark and foreboding; I was now completely covered in what looked like liquid opals. Touching my side, where the eggs had burst, the stuff seemed to have bonded with me, because I could feel my fingertips as if I was poking my bare skin. The texture wasn't liquid, or slimy … it wasn't even wet; it felt like skin: soft, warm and elastic. While buttoning up my shirt, I looked at my hands and spoke to whatever was covering them, "I have to go downstairs to eat, you know. Someone is bound to notice that my hands seemed to have changed color, and they will most likely become very upset. We're on a secret military testing base … and I'm pretty sure, they could find all kinds of painful ways to try and remove you."

I stared in wonder as the membrane change color, and mimicked my skin exactly. It understood me? More than the change that it had just undergone, that it was taking over my body, or even that it was most certainly alive, I was frightened by the aspect that it was obviously intelligent. "What are you going to do to me?” An answer formed in my head … no words, no pictures, just the knowledge that it wasn't hostile. Some part of me didn’t believe it though.

My heart was beating so hard that I could hear it pulsing in my ears, and my hands started to shake uncontrollably. My mother called up the stairs, telling me it was time to eat … and the thought of this entity hurting her, made my chest stab with pain. Drawing in an unsteady breath, I whispered, "Please don't hurt them."

The cooling sensation I'd felt in the shower penetrated my skin once more, and then spread into my veins, traveling over my entire body. Unexpectedly, I felt fire licking my legs ... not painfully though; it felt similar to stepping in a warm bath. My muscles didn't seem to have a choice but to relax. The flames burned slowly, turning into a tenderness that slithered up my spine.  I could feel it entering my skull, making the hair on my scalp stand on end. My heart slowed, my hands stilled, and I accepted that the entity had won. My brain went back to the bank of the river, when I gently stroked the eggs and remembered the comforting words of my mother. Only, these words were never spoken by her lips, "Shhh, shhh little Angel … you're never going to be alone again. We are one."

Walking over to the mirror on my wall, I watched the membrane grow over my face, enter my nose and slide into my mouth. It was beautiful, living stone reflecting light in shattered rainbows. I heard my mother's steps climbing the stairs; and as quickly as I had diverted my eyes to the door, my complexion changed back to the way it was before I'd ever found the eggs. I could hide what I'd become on the outside; but what I had become on the inside … was never going to be the same again.