Fifty Years Later

Mickey and I were too shaken to be able to sleep, so we sat in the kitchen for a while, silent. It was a clear night, and we could see the moon crawling up the black sky through the slit of the curtains.

I had no words to describe the feelings that were fighting in my soul. The avalanche of knowledge and emotion that Zero had unleashed on us overwhelmed my senses. It felt like the world turned upside down, and I was numb from it. Not yet able to determine what it meant, and how things would change from now on.

Mickey was the same. He was uncharacteristically still. Thoughtful.

After a while, he said:

'Do you believe him?'

I hesitated.

'I believe that he believes in what he says, at least.'

There was wonder in Mickey's eyes.

'But it makes sense, doesn't it? All of it. We were told since we were little that wraiths are a mistake. A dead-end branch of evolution. They even call us genetically altered, like there is a source from which we deviated. That we're unoriginal. But I... I never felt like a mistake. I never felt that I was born wrong.'

He closed his eyes.

'No matter how often I was told that I am somehow worse than others, I never believed it. I knew, deep down, that I am as I'm supposed to be, and there's nothing wrong with it. The people who hated me for what I am, they were the ones who were wrong. They were the ones who were cruel, and unfair, and bad.'

Mickey smiled, his eyes shining.

'I mean, my father was the best person I ever knew. He was brave, capable, and kind. My mother was loving, gentle, and wise. Everyone who knew them was happier for it. How could their lives be a mistake?'

He sighed, rubbed his face.

'But there was something wrong, not with us, but with the world itself. We were all born to die. It didn't ever make sense, really, did it?'

I found it hard to answer.

'I don't know, Mickey. For me, it didn't for a long time. Until a realized that life doesn't necessarily have to make sense.'

He leaned forward, excited:

'But it can, can't it? If what Zero said is true. If we're not broken, just incomplete! If there's hope, if not for us, then for our children. If it's true, then everything that we thought was wrong is actually right. Then there's future ahead of us that doesn't hurt, doesn't hurt so much!'

'I have forgotten what hope is like a long time ago.'

Mickey nodded, his face growing somber.

'Yeah. Yes, me too. In this, he's right, at least. They crushed us. They've broken our spirits. And, worse of all, they made us believe that this is how things are supposed to be.'

He turned away, trembling.

'Do you think... do you think it might be one of us? That child he was talking about. Someone who was born immune to the Disease.'

Oh, it was such an alluring thought. It was so radiantly seductive. I felt my hands trembling, too. To know there is a chance for you to escape the curse, to be free. Alive. Everything that I ever wanted to believe, wrapped in a neat string of explanations, vague enough to be compelling, and yet unprovable. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought that the person offering this gift was insincere in his intentions.

Was Zero too mad to be so capable of such manipulation?

Was Sergei Duncan?

'I'm not sure. I think... I think it sounds too much as something we would want to hear. It sounds a little bit too good to be true, for me. Think about it, Mickey. When was the last time this world was kind to you? When was the last time you were wrong to expect the worst?'

He smiled.

'I happened to me once. The day Zero became my Protector.'

We were silent after that, and slowly, one thought after another, the thought of being immune to the Disease took over our minds.

Mickey looked at me, sparks in his eyes.

'Hey. If you found out that you're safe, what would be the first thing you would do?'

I smiled.

'Ask a girl on a date. You?'

'I don't know. Maybe buy a new car? Oh no, wait! A would, like, plant a tree. Watch it grow for decades, until, fifty years later, it becomes this huge fucking oak or something. And I would come to sit under its branches, all old and wrinkly, with like a stylish, crazy-ass walking cane and think: "I planted this tree. This is Mickey's tree. I made this!'

He laughed, raising his hands to show how big his tree would be. I smiled, too, and said:

'You know, I think this is the best idea I've ever heard.'

We talked until morning, excited. Sharing our hopes and dreams, laughing at each other, comparing bucket lists.

We both knew, of course, that it was just a fantasy. That in reality, none of us had a chance of being the miracle child. But for that one night, knowing that one day someone will, was enough.