of laughter had fascinated him anytime he’d heard it, even from a distance, and he was eager to understand what caused it and what it felt like. And touch. The touch of another human being, embracing, kissing. Sex. The pleasures of sex seemed to him like the ultimate goal of being human, and he could not wait to experience it.
This was going to be beautiful. Wonderful. He could hardly wait to get started.
He found a driveway leading to a house with lights on inside, but he sensed people within. People he’d wronged recently. No, he could not stop there. He knew he must go farther.
It was a long walk. Twenty minutes, stark naked, in the cold, but he finally came to an empty house. No movement came from inside, no lights were on. But there was something beyond that, a palpable feeling that no one was home.
The door was unlocked, a bit of good luck for him. Better still, it was warm inside. Warm, safe from the cold. So he stepped in, his bare feet sinking into the carpet he knew would feel good to him when sensation returned. He went directly up to the second floor, where dressers and closets held clothing, and he picked through them, wondering if the jeans and shirts would fit his body, and realizing then that he had no idea, really, what he looked like. So he walked through into the adjoining bathroom, and stood face-to-face with his own image.
He was tall, he thought. He’d seen other men, knew their size. He was broad and hard, too. His chest and stomach rippled with muscle. Massive, powerful arms, big hands, thick thighs. He studied his features with a sense of wonder. This is me, he thought. This is my body. My face … He ran his hand over his bristly cheek. His face was dark, whiskered and sun bronzed, and he wondered how that could be, if this body was brand-new.
Then he lifted his gaze to meet his own eyes in the mirror, and it startled him, the intensity, the depth of them. Dark brown, his eyes, revealing turmoil and pain. A pain he recognized but didn’t remember. Startling, to look into his own eyes for the first time. It felt as if a complete stranger was looking back at him and, more, looking for something within him.
Eventually he dragged his gaze away from his reflection and realized there was a shower stall standing nearby. He knew what it was, how to use it, and he didn’t particularly care enough to worry whether the home’s owners would return before he finished. He needed to get warm.
Reaching into the stall, he adjusted the water flow until it was as hot as he could stand it, and then he stepped in and let the heat soak into his cold new body. It felt good. Not as good as it had seemed when he’d seen others stand beneath the spray, heads tipped back, eyes closed in pleasure. But it was good compared to freezing, and it was warming him up quickly. He stayed until the water ran cool, then toweled off and returned to the bedroom to dress himself in another man’s clothes: heavy jeans and a T-shirt, with a flannel shirt over that, woolly socks and a pair of running shoes that fit almost perfectly. Luck was with him. Or fate. Maybe the Universe thought he needed a break after what he’d been through.
Dressed, he went down to the kitchen, food being next on his list of priorities, and he ended up wolfing the leftovers he found in the refrigerator. Half a baked chicken, a bowl of chocolate pudding, a partial head of lettuce, browning at the cut edges. He tried one thing after another, but he didn’t find the pleasure he was looking for from the food. Why did people make such a big fuss? Aside from the consistency, one thing tasted much like another.
How disappointing.
After the food, he rummaged around the house a bit more, taking the money he found in the cookie jar, all of $85, and a bus ticket that was tacked to a cork-board in the kitchen. It was marked “Port Authority, New York, NY.”
When her beloved found the empty house, Lilia was delighted and relieved. When he took the money and found the bus ticket, she was horrified. Not only had he stolen, but he was going to New York? No! He needed to stay in upstate Milbury, near her sisters, so they could help him, keep him safe until she could take physical form and protect him herself.
And then he was off on foot again, but warm, wearing his pilfered clothing and a coat he’d added to the collection. Soon a passing car slowed down to offer him a ride, and he was on his way to the bus station.
“Why?” she cried at the Universe. “Why are you letting this happen?”
But as usual, the Universe remained silent on the subject.
1
March …
Being human was absolutely miserable.
“Hey, will you look at that?” The aging man nudged Demetrius with the toe of his tattered sneaker. Demetrius grunted at him, a warning huff, like an animal would make, and huddled deeper into the blanket he’d snatched from an empty baby carriage while the mother wasn’t looking. It wasn’t very big, and the soft smell it had emitted at the beginning was already fading beneath slightly less pleasing aromas.
“C’mon, D-man, stop being so damn grouchy and look.”
Muttering under his breath, he lifted his head. “My name is Demetrius.” He hated when Gus called him by made up nicknames, all of which began with his initial. D-man. D-dog. Just D. And yes, he was grouchy. He was cold, shivering in the bitter March wind. He was hungry, his belly burning with it. His head ached, his eyes watered, and his body was sore from sleeping on concrete and park benches. This experience was not turning out the way he’d hoped.
Gus grinned down at him, tobacco-stained teeth flashing in a weathered, whiskered face. “Over there,” he said.
Demetrius looked where the old man—who had somehow become his only companion—was pointing. Across the busy street, a newly erected digital sign was flashing its message for the first time. They’d been watching as work crews put it up, wondering what useless product it would advertise. Now the scrolling marquee-style message told them The New York State Lottery is now 12.5 Million Dollars!
“And all it takes is a dollar and a dream,” Gus said, shaking his head, a blissful smile on his face.
“We don’t have a dollar between us.” Demetrius wrapped the blanket around his face to protect it from the cold, his eyes peering out from above the warm flannel.
“You could sell your trinkets, trade ’em for a few bucks.” As he said it, Gus hunkered low, reaching for one of the plastic shopping bags Demetrius kept tied to his belt. Before Gus could blink, Demetrius clamped a large hand around the smaller man’s wrist.
“Don’t touch my things.”
“Awright, awright!” Gus pulled his hand away, rubbing his wrist. “Damn, D, I wasn’t gonna steal it. Why you always gotta be so touchy about those treasures of yours, anyway?” He waited for a reply he wasn’t going to get before going on. “I mean, I get it about the knife. A man needs a weapon out here. And I guess I understand about the necklace. Sort of. I mean, it’s kinda girly, but it’s nice enough.” Demetrius lifted his head and sent the other man a glare for that comment, but Gus went right on. “But that danged cup. What the hell does a guy like you need with a fancy-ass mug like that, anyway? We could pawn that thing. Prob’ly get enough to pay for a night in a nice place. A decent meal. A whole suit of clothes, for cryin’ out loud.”
“They are mine. They’re all I have. And they mean something. I just don’t know what yet.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know the fairy tale. You’re not quite human. You came from another realm, got yourself a body
