Love, Candace

This was a contest entry gone wrong. I hope to expand it. Do you think there is enough there for a novel, or just a short story?

It was a habit that Henry could never break.

“Love, Candace.” That’s how she’d signed her note, spurring Henry into a fit of foolish passion and the letter he should never have written. She didn’t take it well and broke off all contact. Sixteen was too young to meet the love of your life, and he’d learnt the hard way.

Candace, now Sister Mary Dufort, sat before him in his office with a young novice, Sister Catherine. He wasn’t sure that she even recognized him, although she had the advantage of knowing his name. Her surname had been a clue, but he’d never expected Candace to walk into his office that day, much less as Mother Superior of the Sisters of the Covenant. In spite of her salt and pepper grey hair, she looked much the same after 25 years, with her athletic physique and brilliant, sparkling blue eyes. Both women wore demure grey skirts and blouses and wouldn’t ordinarily be recognized as nuns, now that full habits were a relic of the past.

Henry, on the other hand, was much the worse for wear. His brief failed marriage and a subsequent long-term relationship resulted in two children, both girls who blamed him for the break-ups and plunged him into never-ending money problems as he staggered under hefty maintenance payments. Claire starting college eased them somewhat, but his life had just sunk into turmoil again when his latest girlfriend of ten years, Anna, left him and three days later announced that she was pregnant. Broken relationships and alienated children had become an annoying routine.

Working all hours of the day, Henry’s body betrayed him. He’d lost sight of his feet a couple years ago, and his back ached constantly. The little hair that he had left was cut short to de-emphasize his baldness.

“Mr Gordon,” Sister Mary began, “at the Convent we have finally decided to computerize. Sister Catherine has trained in web design, and we have come to you for advice on hardware, which we hope you will be able to install and maintain. I know so little about it myself that I will have to let Catherine take over from here, Hank. I’ll get involved only when we come to costs.”

Hank. No one had called him that in over two decades, and hearing it roll off her lips again made his spine tingle. He still thought of her often, and she had clearly forgiven or possibly forgotten his ancient faux pas. Yes, he saw recognition in her eyes, and it threw him. As Catherine prattled away, he found himself unable to take notes or any interest in her at all, as he realized how much he was still in love with her Mother Superior.

“Mr Gordon?” Mary interrupted, “Hank? Are you alright?”

Henry’s glazed look remained.

“Hank?” Mary persisted.

“I, umm…” Henry’s memories refused to let go.

“That was a long time ago,” she said gently. “We were both young and foolish then.” Meanwhile, Catherine fidgeted, unprepared for the familiarity between the two.

Snapping back to his senses, he replied nervously, “Yes, it’s ancient history. I’m sorry. I don’t know what possessed me.”

He felt the sudden urge to cry, something he hadn’t done in years, neither when his relationships broke up, nor when his parents died. He couldn’t help it – crying was the last thing he wanted to do in front of two nuns. The tears flowed, nevertheless.

“Catherine,” Mary whispered, “would you leave us for a moment?” The novice quietly obeyed. “I’m sorry, Hank,” Mary continued. “I thought that having her here might make our meeting less awkward.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Henry replied, wiping his tears. “This was all so unexpected. But I wouldn’t have anticipated my reaction in any case.”

“Should we come back some other time?”

“No.”

“I’ve put this meeting off for several months myself,” she admitted.

Too much, too soon. He’d only known her a month when he wrote that ill-conceived letter. Had it driven her to the Convent? Surely, she wouldn’t have made such a decision so young. Yet some hurt remained, undiminished by time. “You could have gone to someone else,” he replied.

“No … I couldn’t,” she stuttered. “I had to face … I … had to … I needed to … ” She found herself unable to say whatever it was. The meeting appeared to be as hard for her as it was for him.

“I’m glad you came, Candace,” he interrupted, relieving her from her misery.

“You mustn’t call me that,” she insisted, struggling to regain her composure. “That was my old life.”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. Yes, it was her old life. The wedding bands that she and her novice proudly wore attested to that. She was a bride of Christ. He mused on whether it would have been easier for him if she were married to another man. No answer came, so he fought to compose himself. “I think I can continue now.”

As Sister Mary remained motionless, Henry suspected a reason for her visit that extended beyond websites and networks. He was resigned to wait until she was ready. He’d already waited for 25 years.

“We will talk more when you come out to see the Convent and School,” she said abruptly, standing and turning the handle of the door. “As Mother Superior, I have a few privileges.”

Bernould

There is much more of this, which I'll post if anyone wants to read it.



Bernould walked aimlessly down 42nd Street. Coming to New York City was the last thing he should have done. Of course, he was free to wander late at night forlornly looking for something to satisfy his hunger, but he still attracted a trail of women who blindly followed him. Some didn’t even realize that was what they were doing. It was little consolation that his trail was shorter and less obtrusive than it would be during the day.

He despised everything about humans: they were filthy, ugly animals that made grotesque noises and ate repulsive food. Bernould could never fathom why his parents had dumped him on this godforsaken planet, especially while he was in heat. He dreamt of being back on Caiea blowing pollen kisses on the wind to nearby females. Unlike most plants, Caians were mobile. They were large and majestic, but moved with a wispy grace, especially the females who emitted a lovely almost trance-inducing scent, which was even stronger when there was a male in heat nearby. A simple touch and an exchange of sap was all they needed to procreate. It was an awesome sight. Bernould was still young, only 100 Earth-years old, and this was his first heat.

They may have been second on Caiea’s evolutionary ladder to the highly intelligent, but immobile, Blumenkas, but they were far more grand in their natural form, much like Earth’s trees, but with feathery translucent bark and tendrils that could easily snare an unsuspecting animal for food. Eating a pognum, a small mammal the size of a raccoon, could feed them for two whole Earth years. More like a giant ghost of a tree, they were very light, with roughly the same body mass as a human, but could reach 130 metres in height at full maturity. Shapeshifting into human form was child’s-play, and Bernould was little more than a child.

Finding suitable food on Earth was an entirely different matter, and further complicated by his heat. Women couldn’t resist him, regardless of their circumstances, especially if he was out in Earth’s bright hot sun. He tanned easily and sweat heavily. The sweat, his sap, carried both his seed and a strong narcotic. A compatible fertile human female could be drawn to him from nearly a kilometre away, and would be impregnated shortly after contact. The more compatible they were, the more addictive his sap was. For a non-compatible woman, the sap was a strong hallucinogenic…in his natural form, that was how a Caian snared its food. Bernould would drug his prey, and then digest it – alive for about half of its captivity, which varied according to its size.

Bernould often thought how easy it would be to just turn down an alley and wait for the women to follow. Like many, in close proximity they would expose themselves trying to impress him. It was an animal urge that was completely unconscious. As they did, he could shift back to his natural form, and one would walk right inside with no realization that she was being eaten alive. She would live in an ecstatic trance for nearly a year before succumbing to death, and it would take a further year for her to be fully digested. She would probably provide enough sustenance for five Earth years. Unfortunately, he would be conspicuous in his natural form in that alley, and the captive woman would be visible to the outside world. Men would try futilely to free her. Other women would continue to be drawn to him like a magnet, and would rub their naked bodies on his bark and either stumble away with their floating pink elephants or leave addicted and possibly pregnant, returning to visit him every day for the rest of their lives. Sadly, he already knew that he would like the taste of them.

Sideways

This is a sketch of the beginning of a story, probably a short story. Comments? Suggestions?

Everything about her seemed sideways. That was the only way to describe Fiona. The smile she always wore looped diagonally across her kind face. Even her feline walk leaned imperceptibly to the right as she ambled from shop window to shop window, never in a hurry to get anywhere. She rarely looked anyone straight in the eyes, but when she did, no one could escape the allure of those languid brown pools.