Hypergeniture Bk. 01 Pt. 02

"No thanks."

I turned to look at my sister, but she wasn't there... I realised I must've imagined her asking to make more tea. I had a memory of it but knew the memory was false by the way the words sounded as I tried to repeat them.

"Do you want me to make you some more tea," I mouthed, flexing my brows as I realised they were a figment of my imagination.

No matter. I was tired and stressed. People are bound to mishear and misremember and sometimes even lose track of things. Right?

One little slip of the mind was nothing to worry about.

• • •

Leaving the breakfast table was hard — standing up was painful due to the wound.

The doctor's visit only told me things I already knew. He seemed intent on telling me how lucky I was, even mentioning that the type of blade used caused a cleaner cut. I didn't tell him about my little moment in the kitchen, but he reminded me that some unidentifiable toxin poisoned the knife, and I wondered... But I didn't wonder very long.

After the examination, I made my way back to the bedroom. I was still wearing my sleeping clothes, which wouldn't do for my meeting with Alicia's friend. He was a man who'd lived a thousand lives, and he could help explain what happened in London.

My shirt was easy to remove — loose-fitting by design, so it didn't graze against my scar. Next, I had to pick something from the hastily assembled wardrobe that Elle ordered for me. There wasn't anything business-like, so I said fuck't and grabbed a t-shirt, not thinking about the logistics.

I scolded myself as the tight fabric reached the sensitive tissue around my scar.

"Fuck, fuck-ity, fuck..."

"G'day, sir. Do you need a little help there?" an unfamiliar voice intruded with a distinctly Australian accent.

I looked up to see a gamine young woman with a short and punky asymmetric blonde haircut. She looked like a character fresh off the pages of a young-adult novel — a heroine for our time. Her bright pink lips and dark-blue blazer were casual yet refined, matched by a white linen shirt. A surfer's necklace hung proudly next to a cross pendant.

Like Isabelle, she seemed to be Catholic.

There was no mistaking who this woman was. Her tall and proud posture and expensive clothes made sure of that.

"You're the new protection officer?"

"Hit the nail on the head, sir. Can I give you a hand with that?"

I declined. "No, thanks. It seems like it would be a little awkward... Uhm?"

"Skylar," she introduced herself. "Are you sure I can't help? I used to work in Los Angeles, so this is hardly the worst thing I've ever had to do on the job. Plus, I'm a qualified medic..."

I sighed and let the insistent Skylar give me a hand. "Army medic?"

"Oh, hell no," the blonde chuckled. "Professional lifeguard. Then I did a little more training before getting bored and branching out... I ended up in Hollywood, babysitting adults. After that, I wanted to do something different... This is different."

I appreciated the openness. "You know, someone might try to stab me again. Are you up for that?"

The blonde started helping me out of the t-shirt with careful hands. "Sir, I've never been much more than a fashion accessory with a gun. I welcome a real job, and I'll have your back."

Skylar helped me into a more comfortable top, and I thanked her. "You know, my one sister won't like you initially. Her twin will love your look and your personality. Then, there's my mother... She'll probably throw things at you just for the hell of it. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Sounds like a party, sir," the blonde smiled naughtily.

That little smile taught me all I needed to know. I had a new friend, guardian, and partner in crime.

16 • Uyezwa?

The world around the farmhouse was pristine. It seemed the land was being worked and worked well with only the house left to fall apart.

I met Alicia's friend, Aaron, in the garden. He was a large man — giant almost — with dark brown skin that carried the scars of old age. When I approached, he was coughing into his sleeve. He pulled a cigar and lit it in the same motion, smiling with the cylinder between his lips as we shook hands. We held that handshake for almost a minute as we analysed each other. He had a good poker face and an easy charm, wearing a suit that was far too big for him but which probably cost more than a small car.

"Ah, the man I've come to see!" my companion exclaimed between puffs. "Alicia has told me so much about you, yet I doubt she even mentions me!"

"She was very excited for you to arrive. It's a shame she's not here to say hello."

Aaron laughed until he was wheezing. He offered me a cigar, which I politely declined. "Are you sure?" he asked. "It's genuine Cuban. You can only get them there!"

"I would love to, but if my sister catches me smoking..."

"Ja? That's the thing with women: They know what's best for us."

We walked to a bench underneath the canopy of a large tree and sat next to each other. The old man was a domineering presence, his shoulders broad and body tall. I could easily recognise a gentle giant, but this man's gentleness was firmer than most. He was sweet, but he also commanded respect with the depth of his voice.

"So, youngster, Alicia thinks I can help you. I will start by telling you I'm not a spy or policeman, and the only answers I can give are because I have many friends and have lived a long life."

"Friends like Alicia?" I wondered aloud.

Aaron shrugged, almost wistfully. "I knew her father when she lived here in the Cape."

"Here? In South Africa? Well... I always thought she was Dutch."

My companion started laughing a wild and unpredictable bark of joy. "Dutch! Don't let her hear you say that! The young Afrikaners are very sensitive to that word, even though she's a boeremeisie at heart."

"Huh?"

"A farm girl with Voortrekker roots," Aaron explained unhelpfully. "Ja, what I mean is that her heritage is as Dutch as it comes. But, for her generation, feeling South African first and foremost is vital. Surely, she must've told you this was her father's farm? Well, it's hers now..."

"No, she never mentioned a word of it. Why doesn't she live here?!"

Immediately, I sensed that I wasn't going to get good answers as the old man leaned forward. "It's not my story to tell, chap... I used to visit here when she was little, and one day I was driving when I saw a girl dragging a sack down the road. Stopping, I saw it was my Alicia, and tears were running down her cheeks. She said to me, 'Ntate, I want to run away', so I went to see her mother... I helped them run away. Uyezwa?"

"Huh?"

"I'm asking if you understand."

Tensing my fingers, I felt a lump in my throat as I imagined a daughter's reasons for fleeing her father. I understood...

Sensing the angst, Aaron broke into a gruff laugh as if he had only fond memories of the past. "Getting them out was tough! Her father had influence and power, but Alicia has many true fathers and mothers. People who met her here and there and love her beyond all words."

"She is easy to love," I confessed.

"Ja... Men who were enemies at the time came together to help her and her mother. Priests, lawyers, policemen, spies, politicians... Very senior people who had no reason to do it other than because they wanted to help. Some of these men were torturers whose cold hearts couldn't stand this one tragedy. It was a terrible thing, but we did a beautiful thing because of it."

I shrugged. "That's the best we can hope for in this life."

"Don't be nihilistic, chap."

"Why did she never come back?"

Aaron waved away my question. He was done talking about the past, yet there was one thing he felt he needed to say.

"There is no country like ours," he declared proudly. "No other place where it's so essential for people to look past their differences."

Knowing the history vaguely, I nodded in agreement.

"Ja," Aaron continued, "the difficult thing is when we have to find ourselves... Alicia is white, and she's African. She's African, and she spent most of her life outside Africa. How do you think that makes her feel? She speaks half-a-dozen languages, but which one is her mother tongue? Where does she belong?"

"I can't even imagine—"

"No need to imagine!" Aaron laughed until his laughter turned to coughing. "She belongs with you, chap! I've waited years to see her find a purpose. Now, she has a mission that matters. Don't disappoint her, and she won't disappoint you."

I accepted the challenge apprehensively, feeling pressure land squarely on my shoulders. With a pat on the back, my companion offered me a chance to talk about the true reason for his visit.

"So, what can you tell me about the people who attacked me?"

Beaming a smile, Aaron took a tattered notebook from his pocket. He wasn't going to read from it, but it was a helpful crutch for a man of advanced age — a fail-safe for if his memory flickered.

"The thugs who attacked you? A regular bunch of gangsters. Ja, nothing special about them, but they were employed by someone to mess with you."

"Do you know who paid them? I slept with this girl... Someone important's daughter... Maybe she had a jealous lover, or—"

"Hold up, chap," the old man sighed as old men often do. "I don't know who paid them, but I know when they were paid."

"Yes?"

"Ja, this is what my friends say... These thugs were contracted the day you landed in London, long before you were doing what-what and what-not."

"The day I landed?! That's before the inheritance and before, well, everything..."

"The payment was made sloppily. The transaction was noted by international law enforcement, but they couldn't tie it to a specific crime. Now, everyone knows that money was to fund your assassination. The funny thing, chap, is that the whole world's security services are covering it up for you."

"I see."

"Which means this has something to do with the shadow world."

"I see."

"Good. Now, let me tell you a story," Aaron smiled, practically throwing his notebook aside as he retrieved a tale from his younger days.

"There was news, back in the 80s, of a man who managed money for Her Majesty's intelligence services. He stole millions from accounts that were supposed to fund covert operations. My friends in the West made him a fugitive and soon went around saying they'd killed him. My friends in the East were not so sure. Ja, it seemed they tried to assassinate the man but failed miserably. It was the Cold War, so naturally, they would lie and say it was a grand success."

"How does any of this relate to me getting stabbed?" I asked.

Aaron cleared his throat. "More than a decade later, there were rumours that the man popped up in London. People started saying he was involved with a prominent lady, but it was all a confidence trick. He was fleecing her for her money — promising her all sorts of things."

I put two-and-two together and started filling in the blanks. "The woman was Elizabeth Wharry. She thought they'd settle down. So, she approached my father, her chauffeur, about adopting his unborn kid. About adopting me..."

"Ja! When it turned out the man was taking her for a fool, she pulled out of the adoption. Still, she develops a little maternal feeling towards you, and you end up with all her money."

I exhaled. "Okay... Still, how does all this lead to me getting stabbed?"

Aaron shrugged. "My old head is too tired to put these things together. They say the fugitive and the businesswoman ended their affair because he got what he wanted. Yet, the more I read about her, the more I'm sure she got something in return... Not a family, but something that's valuable enough to kill for. Don't ask me what. I don't know."

Despite only having half-facts, I rejoiced. "This is still great! There's so much of my life I knew nothing about until these last few days."

Aaron offered me a cigar again. This time I accepted and we sat for a moment, puffing our Cuban tobacco in silence. The taste was... Strong. Clearly, the cigars were what gave him his deep voice (and his chronic cough). Things were becoming a little less murky, but I still couldn't see the forest for the trees.

"Imagine... You finally find someone to settle down with, and all they do is rob you blind. Liz Wharry thought she was going to be a mother. My mother."

The vague suspicion I held against my cousin was like an ant colony in my brain. Someone to settle down with... All they do is rob you blind.

My companion seemed deep in thought as he considered his following words. "Don't blame your parents for keeping secrets," he said. "Being a parent means assuming you know what's best for a precious human life. You must keep secrets and stick to your guns on tough decisions. Ja, chap, don't be angry at your parents for doing that."

"I'm not... My father passed—"

"Sorry to hear that."

"Thanks. I didn't really know him. He died of a stroke when I was too young to make memories... I didn't even know he was much older than my mother before I was told he drove Wharry around while she was pregnant."

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "She was too young to work?"

"I was their happy little accident," I smirked.

Aaron chuckled to himself. "I take it she hasn't been a very competent parent? Seems like she has a good excuse, chap... Seems like she has a bloody good excuse."

After a few minutes of silence, my guest got to his feet. Taking a big whiff of air, he beckoned me to join him on a walk to his car.

"I have a friend at the South African embassy in London. Like me, he helped Alicia and her mother flee this country years ago... He'll help with further details."

"Alicia means a lot to you," I noted.

"She means the world to me, chap. I have six children with my wife, but Alicia is the daughter sent to me as my task from God. Much like your sisters were the task given to you."

I nodded, not being religious but understanding the devotion of caring for someone like that. It was a tricky thing, but it was also more rewarding than anything else.

Aaron continued, "Maybe you can find out what happened to the fugitive. Maybe he's dead, or not... It could be a dead-end, red-herring, diversion... So, prepare for that."

I gave Aaron a hearty handshake. He was a friend of Alicia's, so he was a friend of mine. "You should go say hello," I offered. "She's taken my sister to the gun range."

The old man smiled brightly. "I think I will! It has been too long since I've seen her. Ja, she keeps the farm running for the workers' sake, but she never visits."

As we took the last few steps to Aaron's classic German sedan, he turned to me one last time. "Don't make life too complicated for yourself, chap. Please don't do it. Trust what's in your stomach, even if it makes your head hurt and your hands shake."

"A local proverb?"

Aaron laughed until his laugh turned to a cough. "No. My creation."

The mysterious man shook my hand one last time, gave me an extra cigar, and got in the back of his car. His chauffeur wore a little hat and gloves to confirm that this man was from a different time. A man of secrets and capability, unlike many men who followed. Sure, he was a Cold Warrior, but the modern world had been kind to him, and he still had truths no one else possessed.

Aaron had given me a place to start. Now, I had to run with it.

Trust what's in my stomach.

17 • Spin Cycle

"Your cousin arrived while you were at your appointment," Skylar said. "She's unpacking her things."

It was good news: A chance to see someone I missed and someone I mistrusted. There were a thousand questions to ask, but I was only interested in hearing two answers. Could she ever commit to us, and why wasn't she at the jazz club on the night of the attack?

I trusted my gut, and my gut told me it couldn't be that bad. Whatever she was hiding... I knew her too well for it to be earth-shattering, but she did have a secret, and I wanted to know what.

Skylar had been hanging out in the periphery during my meeting with Aaron. I had no doubt she'd watch me like a hawk, but sometimes I would need leeway.

"Can I rely on your discretion?"

"Absolutely," the blonde answered.

"And if I break the law?"

"Tell me where to hide the body."

The last line was deadpan, but I had a feeling my new protector meant it. Despite only having met, I could tell Skylar was someone I could trust. I had no trouble having her hang around in the background as I pursued the secret relationship with Tash.

With my shadow hovering nearby, I walked back into the farmhouse.

The size of the building hadn't hit me at first. Though, when I started looking for Tash's room, the scale became clear. Knowing that it was Alicia's childhood home had me searching for clues... I wanted to learn more about this woman who so suddenly became indispensable to my life. I wanted to know why her eyes seemed to see me unlike anyone else's.

I could only entertain my detective work for so long as I reached the guest bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and through the crack, I could both hear and see my cousin unpack her suitcase. Her bed was full of winter clothes suited to January in Europe, but it was summer in South Africa. The way she huffed as she emptied her luggage told me she recognised the mistake.

She picked her smartphone off the bed — a cracked Chinese knockoff — scrolling aimlessly. She was tense. Very tense.

Lurking a while longer, I found myself captivated by the sight of Natasha. The last few weeks came with a shocking realisation: The truth that I didn't really know her. She seemed stuck in a melancholy haze, and the sight made me lightheaded.

If the old Natasha were the real Natasha, that's the person I wanted her to be. Sure, I couldn't change her, but I was confident that the girl I grew up with hadn't disappeared in the storm of our affair.

"Ahem."

"Woah!" Natasha jumped. "You frightened me."

"Hey."

"Hey... It's good to see you're alright."

The look on my cousin's face was too sincere for someone who wanted me dead, but her eyes avoided mine. Then came the absence of a hug... A feeling that made me think a little harder about what was truly going on between us.

"My mom sends her love," Tash offered, standing awkwardly. "I know you're keeping it a secret — the whole incident — but I thought I could tell her."

I smiled, happy to hear from the woman who mothered me when I briefly lived in the UK. "Of course, you can tell her. She's family, and I'd never keep a secret from family. I miss Aunt Olivia... Maybe she can join us once everyone is together and safe."

Tash turned her body away from me; her eyes becoming even more evasive as she bowed her head. "No... That's a bad idea. I don't want her getting involved in the thing between us."

"We have a thing?" I asked, taking a step closer.

"Obviously. There's no point in denying stuff's happened."

I agreed, "Stuff happened, but that doesn't make it a thing. Tash, I need to know if there's a long-term for us?"

My cousin opened up her body language and finally looked into my eyes. "In London, I couldn't give you an answer—"

"Why'd you never show up to our meeting at the club?"

"I was in a cab and on my way..."

Tash kept talking, but I knew what she'd said was a lie. My people watched her that night, and she never left her flat. There are many reasons to bend the truth, and I couldn't imagine any good ones in this case.

As my cousin's attention shifted, she started asking strange questions. "Who's the new blonde girl... Was she a cop... Does she carry a gun... Do they sleep in the house with us... I saw some people changing locks... Where do they keep the keys..."