Project 17

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Hello! It's back to work for most of us. I hope you all had a restful vacation.

Now I will start to share the first five chapters of my science fiction novel, Project 17. The novel was published by Visprint and released September 2013. The book is now available in all major Philippine bookstores. Visit http://elizavictoria.com/books for more info.

Onward!

            It was a gray, cold afternoon when Lillian showed up on the Dolores brothers’ doorstep, chewing the inside of her mouth, aching for a Candy Stripe. She had had so much coffee she was practically crawling out of her skin. When the door opened and Paul Dolores appeared, Lillian stepped inside, showed him a winsome smile and said, “Hello, Mr. Dolores. Where’s Caleb?”

Paul, according to the profile he sent her, was thirty-one years old but looked older. He looked like a very weary man. At the mention of Caleb’s name, he took a deep breath, sighed, and glanced over his shoulder. Maybe it was involuntary. Maybe he didn’t mean to take Lillian by surprise. Caleb was standing in the alcove behind him, in an oversized UP shirt and pajama bottoms. He was wearing large, black-rimmed glasses. Lillian looked at Caleb, looked at Paul, and looked at Caleb again, her eyes flitting from one brother to another without moving her head. Caleb couldn’t be younger than twenty.

“Well,” Lillian told Paul, “fuck you, too.” She burst out of the house and heard a door slam behind her – Caleb turning on his heel and locking himself in his room like the sick bastard that he was.Paul followed her down the driveway. “Wait!” he said. “Wait, Lillian, please let me explain!”

Lillian whirled around so fast Paul almost crashed into her. “I am sick of this!” she said. “This is the fifth time I’ve been burned. Why can’t you sick fucks just contact Paraluman and order a fucking Dancer?”

Paul looked horrified by the accusation. “It’s not like that,” he said. “Please. Caleb really needs a caregiver.”

 The Dolores brothers lived on a street modeled after the American suburbs of the last century: white picket fences or otherwise wide-open lawns, perfectly manicured grass, landscaped gardens, houses with porches. It was a street for vacationers, and nobody stayed in this forgotten corner of Bulacan during the summer. The afternoon, threatening rain, was enveloped by a deep, eerie silence. The Doloreses seemed to be the only residents living there. No Sentry in sight, but Lillian was sure one was within earshot, so she crossed her arms and tried to calm herself. She couldn’t afford to get picked up for disturbing the peace.

 “I’m a babysitter,” she said, enunciating carefully. “You did read the ad, didn’t you? An eleven-year-old would have been too old for me.”

“But you have caregiver experience,” Paul said. “I checked your CV online.”

Lillian sighed in exasperation. “So I took a job at an Elders’ home when I was sixteen, so fucking what. Why didn’t you just tell me your brother’s age? You should have been transparent.”

“Would you have come if I had told you the truth?”

Lillian didn’t answer.

“I’ve contacted so many agencies,” Paul said. “Most of them didn’t even bother to call back to reject us.”

“Why?” Lillian asked. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Caleb has schizoaffective disorder.”

“Great,” Lillian said before she could stop herself. So he’s psychotic.

Paul saw the judgment on her face, and looked hurt. “He’s not violent. He has medication.”