The Genetic Code

Chapter 17

"What's this?" Dad asks from the front seat, as our car pulls down the narrow street of our neighborhood.

A large herd of people, some carrying large cameras, some with phones in their hands, others holding a notepad and pen, congregate in front of the fence of our house. They crane their necks trying to look into the windows, checking if anyone is home, waiting for someone to exit. When we get closer to the large messy group of people, a few of them exclaim as they notice our presence, shouting and waving to let the others know so that everyone has their eyes and cameras pointed at us. They begin to charge at us all at once, brandishing audio devices and surrounding the vehicle on all sides.

"Woah!" Dad exclaims, bringing the car to a screeching halt. He winds down his window halfway. "What are you—"

Instantly reporters attempt to shove their microphones and audio recorders through the space. They all begin to shout different questions at the same time:

"Mr Aldaine, were you surprised when you heard your daughter's result yesterday?"

"Were you expecting this? Did you know since she was a child that she was Perfect?"

"I heard Juliette is adopted! Have you known all this time that she's Perfect? Did you keep her gene status a secret on purpose?"

"Juliette! Now that you know the truth, are you going to abandon your Normal family and pursue the high life as a Perfect?"

All their questions begin to meld together into boisterous roaring in my ears, and I find my hand gripping onto Mom's sleeve, like I did as a little girl whenever I was afraid.

I look up to her for support, but instead notice the uneasiness in her eyes, the dark clouds that begin to gather in the grey. I know all too well what is happening to her: she's slipping into her black shadows, the dark corners of her mind she crawls into when the waves of despair begin to take over.

I shift my eyes to Dad in the front seat, who has resorted to using brute force to keep reporters' out of the car. His eyes are wide and menacing, and the vein on his forehead is popping out as if it's about to burst any second. I hear his breaths getting heavier, watching his shoulders rise and fall with every breath he takes in an attempt to subdue the boiling anger which is threatening to explode. His face contorts into an expression similar to a bear about to attack, forehead scrunched up and lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. I take the cue to flutter my eyelids close and brace myself.

The deafening sound of the horn blares and draws-out for far too long, ringing loudly in my ears. I cup my hands over my ears to try and muffle the sound, keeping my eyes pressed tightly close.

When the sound finally stops, I open my eyes again. I turn my head to the side, seeing Mom shrunk into the corner, trying to make her body as small as possible against the car door. Her hands are trembling as she stares with horrified eyes out to the messy scene of reporters, separated from us by only a sliver of glass. Dad releases a curse and slams his fist against the horn once more, which only serves to make Mom more frantic.

After a long struggle, Dad finally manages to shove reporters groping hands out of the car and reels the window shut. He takes a minute to catch his breath and cool his temper.

"We have to get into the house," he says quickly.

"How? Mom can hardly move and reporters are completely surrounding the car!" I reply anxiously.

"I'll get out of the car first. You open the door and help your mother out. I'll shield both of you into the house, just support Mom and keep her moving her feet." He turns his head back to us in the back seat, noticing my worried look.

"Don't worry, honey. I'm a security guard, I've dealt with this kind of thing before." He tries to give my an encouraging smile but it turns out more like a grimace. "You ready?"

"Yes." No.

"One... Two... Three!" He swings the door open violently, nearly hitting some of the reporters who were pressed up to the surface of the car body. As he fights through the swarm of people and makes his way to our side of the car, I reach over Mom's body and pull the door handle. The car door pops open, and the reporters begin to go crazy.

"Come on, Mom. We have to get into the house. Please, stand up. Just until we get into the house," I press her gently. She is unresponsive, staring wide-eyed at her hands on her lap. "Please, Mom! Get out of the car!" I raise my voice in the frenzy, attempting to get through to her frozen mind.

Finally she raises her head and looks at me, as if waking up from a bad dream. "Okay," she mumbles softly. "Okay. Okay."

"Dad's waiting outside. He'll protect us. Don't worry, alright?" I assure her as if speaking to a young child. She nods her head silently. Turning towards the open door, she lays one wobbly foot onto the road. Dad helps her out of the car with one hand, using the other to hold off reporters who try to attack her with questions and cameras. I follow quickly after, shutting the door behind me. Dad brings his bulky arm around my back, guiding me forward as he clears the path ahead of us.

I find myself blinded by flashing lights, deafened by the roaring of the swarm, suffocated by the crowd of bodies encircling me trying to push through Dad's human shield; the stench of sweat and the sweltering heat. The reporters are unrelenting, continuously bombarding us with a barrage of questions that I can't even comprehend anymore, everything just sounding like rambunctious noise in my ears.

Dad tells me to keep my head down. I automatically comply, looking down at my feet shuffling across the road next to Mom's, which stumble every now and then as if her legs are about to give out. I envelope one arm around her waist, trying to keep her up and moving.

It takes over five minutes just to get from our car to the house. My cheeks are already flushed, I've been thwacked in the back of the head by a waving microphone and lost a shoe. But, at long last, we've reached the safe haven. Dad swiftly unlocks the front door and rips it open, all but throwing us in. Once the door is shut and double-locked, we're finally able to breathe again. Dad and I heave an identical sigh, relishing the sanctuary of our home, where reporters can't invade us wielding their words as weapons and cameras as shields.

Mom is leaning her full weight against my body, so I can tell that her legs are about to give out. I give Dad a look, and he instantly receives the message, stepping forward and scooping Mom easily up into his arms. He carries her into the living room, laying her down gently onto the couch.

"I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay." The words come out of her mouth like air, as she blinks her eyes slowly, gradually regaining her senses.

Dad leaves the room and returns with two pills and a glass of water. After she's taken her medication, we leave the room to let her take a nap.

She sometimes get like this. There's nothing much we can do when it happens, we just give her her medication and wait for it to subside. It's not something that we can fix, since it's an internalized problem, like everyone has, a defect programmed in the hard-drive of our brain from the moment we are born. Everyone's defect is unique to themselves, some like a small speck, others like a horde of bacteria that overruns their entire system.

Dad handles his condition better than Mom does. Maybe it's because his job as a security guard requires him to have patience, or that his school had a more effective rehabilitation program, or perhaps he's just mellowed with age. Of course he still has his spurts of anger; his own episodes of uncontrollable rage, but he's able to gain control over his emotions more easily.

Despite all the medication she's been taking over the years, Mom's condition doesn't seem to be improving much. The medication only serves to keep her tranquilized for the time-being and delay those episodes, not prevent them. Situations like today will just trigger off her episodes. She doesn't like big crowds and can't handle a huge herd of people charging at her all at once.

Hopefully the reporters' buzz will die down soon. Hype over some random Normal girl should only last a few days anyway.

Well, I guess I'm not a Normal girl anymore. Not like I ever was.