Chapter 15: Children of the Damned

Andrew's Story - Telempathy

It happened one night. I had been going down on Dee Dee, giving her one of my patented 'make her talk' jobs. Because of her fragile condition (she is seven months preggers after all) I relented after only about fifteen minutes of gentle torture and got her off big time. Her screams could have woken the dead. But it wasn't the dead she woke.

I lay there with my head on her enlarged belly. She is incredibly beautiful pregnant. Her face is aglow. Her tits are sensitive, her skin radiates health. I hear Donnie and Deirdre complain about how fat and ugly they are, but they just don't get it.

They are ravishingly beautiful. Any man looking at them must be torn between wanting to protect them from harm and wanting to fuck them senseless. That's the way I feel every day of my life. I spend fifty percent of my life protecting them from harm. I spend fifty percent of my life fucking them senseless. It seems like a fair trade-off to me.

I was hugging her gently, my head on her protuberant belly when I felt them. They weren't kicking. Dee Dee felt nothing physical, I'm sure. I felt them inside of me. In my head, I guess. It was a presence. It was two presences. I just knew there were two things that were touching me, aware of me. I felt like the theme song of the Twilight Zone should be playing in the background.

Dee Dee didn't even notice. She was trying to recover from her most recent orgasm, knowing that there were more on the agenda. But those orgasms might have to wait.

My life hasn't been exactly normal since I met Deirdre, but this took the cake. I suddenly knew that she was having twins. Of course we expected her to have twins. There is precedence after all; only like four generations. But we didn't bother with ultrasound or any other means of determining sex or number or children. We opted for going as natural as possible.

But here were these two motes, these tiny intelligences, and they were touching my being. Had Dee Dee woken them up with her screams? Well that's a hell of a way to come to life: Mom screams in orgasm, child wakes up.

Is it me? My first reactions were a mixture of awe, wonderment, disbelief and cynicism. My cynicism derived from the possibility, nay likelihood, that I was losing my mind. When one's head is invaded by two other presences, believe me the surest explanation is that you've gone nuts. All other possible explanations pall on the probability scale next to 'you've lost your mind'. That one approaches one hundred per cent, and all the other possible explanations fall into the realm of 'not bloody likely'.

I realize that a madman who diagnosis himself has a lunatic for a doctor. But my gut feeling was that I hadn't gone crazy. Looking at my head in an objective way, what had I thought, said, or done that would indicate that I was losing my mind?

Let's consider. I had fallen in love with a woman ten years my senior. I had then fallen in love with her identical twin sister while still loving the original one. I quit my job from a place where I was the fair-haired boy to go into business for myself. I talked my wives (yes, for all intents and purposes, I have two wives) into accepting responsibility for a 175 year old plantation that doesn't grow anything but termites. I took over some obscure organization that was being run by an eighty-five year old woman, invested every penny I have along with a fair amount of money from my wives to fix up a tumble-down wreck of a house, dropped everything and moved to fucking Georgia of all places. Why would anyone call me crazy?

I put the 'I've lost my mind' scenario on the back burner, willing to listen to my instinct that maybe I wasn't crazy. If I wasn't, then the second most likely scenario is that I was feeling the presence of my children.

What was I feeling? I tried to analyze it. It wasn't thought. It was more like emotion: bewilderment, wonder, mild surprise, something like that.

It was telempathy. Is that a word? If it wasn't, it is now. They were projecting their emotions onto me. It's a possible theory anyway. My theory is: these things, these fetuses, these future people, have no consciousness or at least no conscious thought. All they can do is feel, am I right?

Perhaps they are conscious in the womb, almost certainly are, otherwise why the kicking deal? But what could they think? They have no language. They are in this warm wet place, hearing garbled noises through a wall of flesh, feeling the beat of their mother's heart. They were inside of Deirdre. I speak from experience: they were in heaven. Let's face it: it can only go downhill from there.

Does this telempathy only go one way? I can feel them. Can they feel me? I was already starting to be overwhelmed with emotion.

These motes that had invaded my head, they were my babies! I was flooded with love, tears were in my eyes. My arms tightened a bit around Dee Dee's waist. I didn't want to hurt her. I didn't want to hurt them. I wanted to hold all three of them to my heart forever.

I felt their response! They knew what it was to be loved. They were content. And slowly I felt them leave me. They were going back to sleep happy.

Deirdre was looking at me. "Andrew what's the matter? Why are you crying, sweetie?"

I merely shook my head. I felt it best to sit on this one for a while. Who knows if it would ever happen again? And why should I worry Dee Dee about the state of my mental health when she is in her delicate condition?

I said, "I'm just happy. How couldn't I be happy? I have the most beautiful wife in the world, and she's ready to give birth to our children. I'm just happy, baby."

Dee Dee smiled warmly. "I love you, Andrew. I hope you're right about children. If it is only one child, I'll never be able to lose all of this weight. I feel like a tub of lard."

I could only respond with the obvious. "You look like an angel. There has never been a more beautiful prospective mother. You glow."

She pulled me up to her. We lay side-by-side basking in each other's company. This was the woman I had loved at first sight. Well I had lusted after at first sight. Maybe love didn't come into the picture for a day or two. My emotions weren't exactly under control back then.

And now she was giving birth to our children. Our emotions had to be the same ones shared by men and women since the invention of pair bonding. It's a primal feeling that the race would continue, your line will continue. We are fulfilling the primary purpose of our existence.

I held her to me and we kissed. Again she tasted herself on my lips. It seemed fitting somehow, completing a cycle like that. We are forever, Dee Dee and I.

What is extremely weird about our situation is that in an hour or two I would be with Donnie experiencing the very same emotions all over again. Talk about your Déjà vu?

Would Donnie's babies also be telempathatic? Hey, I've got to develop a whole new word structure here. Not to digress, but I could become famous as the man who introduced the term telempathy to the world. Yes, some people talk of telepathy as if it might exist. But I've got something real that does exist and no one has thought of it yet. Well if they thought of it, nobody told me. I better pass it through my spell-checker before I make any claims.

Anyway, what of Donnie's babies? Are there two? Are they telempathatic? Why would they be? Why wouldn't they be? Is this part of the 'next generation' or have the dice just come up sevens for Dee Dee and I?

If it is a genetic thing related to the way Dee Dee and I mixed our DNA at the time of conception, then what is the likelihood of Donnie's and my DNA mixing the same way? Not very, I would imagine.

But maybe this is a trait that breeds true. Had you thought of that? (Damn I'm sounding more and more like those two women every day, if you know what I mean.) What if whatever combination of genes that has apparently developed within Deirdre is the natural result of the combination of our gene sets, rather than some fluke of nature, some aberration, some mutation?

That would answer a lot of questions. Well, it would create a lot more questions than it answers, but it would answer some questions that have been in my mind for quite some time. The biggy is: how can I tell them apart?

Yes, that is a question that has bugged me for a while. I don't do anything special. I haven't noticed any blemish on one twin that isn't on the other. They are both blemish-free in my eyes.

No one in their lives has ever been able to tell them apart before, not even their parents. How bad is that? But I can. I can tell them apart. Without even thinking about it I can tell them apart. Do we have a seed of empathy between us, so deeply ingrained that we don't even know that it exists? Is that it?

And is that seed set to grow even more empathy in our offspring, empathy to the point of telempathy? This is an interesting development, assuming it is a development. IAM might be breeding for intelligence and might end up with telempathy on top of it. How do you like them apples?

Of course, this is just a theory I'm working on. Hey, I've only had one experience with Dee Dee's babies. I still haven't established my own sanity yet. That will be the first test. Then let's see if I can feel Donnie's babies. Well, that still won't establish my sanity, will it? Rather the opposite, I should think.

There's only one thing for me to do now. Give Dee Dee those promised orgasms. The rest will have to wait.

Donnie's Story

It was late Sunday morning when my water broke. I was in the bathroom performing my morning rituals when it happened. Strangely, I wasn't nervous or scared. I calmly went downstairs to inform Andrew and Deirdre.

Andrew was in the den watching the pre-game hype. I knew that he had his Heineken in the refrigerator and was thinking about making his noon-time run to McDonald's for his Big Mac. He has habits that he lives by. Today they would have to wait.

"Andrew, my water broke. We need to go to the hospital."

He looked at me with a confused expression on his face. "You're water broke? Are you sure?"

I said, "Andrew it's hard to miss something like that."

He was in denial. "But it's Sunday. The Browns are playing the Ravens! It's a grudge match! These kids won't be born till tomorrow, right?"

I said to him, "Go call our doctor. Tell him what happened, and then ask him what we should do." Let the doctor take the responsibility of blowing off the Ravens and the Browns. You would think that since we are in Georgia he would want to root for the Falcons.

I was headed to the kitchen to tell Deirdre when I bumped into her coming the other way. We both said, "Guess what! My water broke!"

We hugged each other and laughed. Tears were streaming down our faces. I told Dee Dee, "You tell Andrew, will you? He's going to have a heart attack, and he's going to miss his football game."

Dee Dee waddled into the den with me waddling behind her. She said, "Andrew, our water broke."

Andrew said, "What is this, an epidemic? Are you sure? This is Sunday, you know."

Dee Dee laughed. "Andrew, get a grip. We're having a baby! We're having babies. Today; do you get it? You're going to be a father today."

We have different ways of dealing with our Andrew. Deirdre has him wrapped around her little finger. He'll do anything she wants almost without question. I handle our relationship with laughter. He does anything I want too, come to think of it. Maybe he's wrapped around my finger too.

Anyway, she convinced him to take our impending deliveries seriously. He called our doctor, who told him to take us to the hospital where she would meet us.

As we got into the car, Andrew said, "Doesn't it strike you as a bit odd that both of you had your water break at the same time?"

Dee Dee and I looked at each other. We've always done everything together. We get our periods together. Why shouldn't our water break together? Such was our assumption. Andrew felt differently.

"Did it occur to you that perhaps both sets of children want to be born together?"

I laughed. "Andrew, you've had some unusual theories in your life, but that's the strangest."

He looked smug. "We'll see. We'll see."

We were over an hour from the hospital, Memorial Health in Savannah. We checked in, and I guess there was more than a little consternation on the face of the check-in person. Maybe they aren't used to having identical twins deliver at the same time. All our papers were in order so we went right up to the women's services area and prepared ourselves.

We needed to be in the same delivery room. We had made arrangements through our doctor to arrange that, even though it was most unusual. We didn't know that we would deliver at the same time, but both of us need Andrew to be with us.

I'm not one to have my husband wait in the hall, smoking cigarettes and feeling miserable. Well, the hospital doesn't allow smoking and anyway Andrew doesn't smoke, uh, cigarettes. And I don't want him being miserable. And I need him with me. And so does Deirdre.

We planned on natural childbirth. We'd all been to the classes. We read the books. We watched the videos. We weren't a bit concerned. And our doctor was quite satisfied with the progress of our pregnancies.

We went through the process, the dilations becoming greater as the frequency of contractions increased, just as all mothers go through the process. Andrew was looking at the clock, calculating the amount of time gone by in his precious ball game.

But time passed, we were suffering just a bit. One should suffer a bit during these times. It makes the experience more starkly real. Too much suffering makes it too real. We were in a birthing unit, with parallel birthing beds.

Andrew's opinion was that we should remain upright for as long as possible to allow gravity to help with the process. I think he read that in some science fiction book so it must be true.

And then they started popping out. Andrew was between us, holding a hand of each of us. Dee Dee gave birth first. It was a girl! Shortly thereafter I gave birth. It was a girl! Not too long after that, Dee Dee gave birth again. It was a girl! Then I gave birth again. It was a girl!

As each baby came out, the doctor placed her on our naked breasts and allowed us to talk to her, comfort her, warm her. Then they took the tiny little thing to be cleaned, dried, weighed, and wrapped in a blanket. Andrew sat on a chair and waited. Each baby was crying as the nurse was cleaning her. Since Deirdre and I were still in labor, the nurse took each of the first two babies and gave them to Andrew, one in each arm.

They cried the entire time they were with the nurse. But as soon as they were in Andrew's arms, they quieted right down. The nurse was amazed. Here was this large, lovely boy holding two tiny, tiny babies. The little ones seemed perfectly content in those loving arms. They must take after their mothers. Those are the arms I want to die in.

Andrew didn't say anything to the babies. He held them and looked in their eyes, although it is my understanding that new-born babies can't track with their eyes for a while after birth. They just seemed to be comfortable with him.

When our second batch was prepared by the nurses, Andrew gave a baby each to Dee Dee and me. They were as identical as peas in a pod, and I certainly was unsure which baby was which.

But Andrew just handed one to me and said, "This is Edie."

Then he handed the other baby to Deirdre and said, "This is Emma."

He seemed to know and I believed him. We had agreed on the names Edie and Edda. Deirdre and Andrew had decided on Emma and Elle. I think the Elle name had something to do with a particular fashion model Andrew favors.

The nurse handed our second pair to Andrew. Again they calmed right down and seemed content just to be held by our beloved. The nurse was shaking her head: four babies, all identical, from two different, identical mothers. It was a most unusual birthing.

Andrew came over between the two of us. He leaned over and kissed Deirdre. Then he leaned over and kissed me. He put everything he had into that kiss, because exhausted as I was, I still felt it to my soul. All I wanted to do was sleep.

Dee Dee's Story

Something strange is going on with Andrew and the children. They absolutely never cry when he is near them. What kind of a spell has he cast over them? They adore him, and yet he barely speaks when he is around them. They just have a rapport that I don't understand. Andrew not speaking is a major turn of events from our point of view.

With Donnie and me they act like normal babies. Poor Andrew must get up every night to get the babies for feeding time. We are lucky that all of them are on the same feeding schedule. How likely is that?

So Andrew brings them to us. We apply one to each breast and let the feeding frenzy begin. Andrew helps with the burping process, the girls eat their fill, and then Andrew puts them back to bed.

They are all so beautiful and all so identical that Donnie and I have no idea which two we are feeding. Andrew assures us that he is giving each of us our own babies, but we only have his word for that. Not that it matters. We long ago decided that we would be group mothers. I may have given birth to Emma and Elle. Donnie may have given birth to Edie and Edda. And I mean may. We have no idea who gave birth to who. It doesn't matter anyway, because we are the mother of each of them.

But Andrew claims to know. He tells them apart, he confidently picks them up and calls them by name. Who knows? Maybe he can tell them apart. I think he may have talents that Donnie and I never guessed at.

But it would be nice to know exactly what is going on here. We have five month old babies who think the world revolves around their father. Their mothers are merely their food source.

I finally decided to force the truth out of him. There is something he isn't telling us. I don't know what and I don't know why. I just know.

I confronted him after the morning feeding. The babies had stayed up for almost two hours, then Andrew put them back to bed. He touches them on the forehead as he places them in the crib and they fall right asleep.

I made him sit with us. We were still in bed, Donnie and I. These feedings at all hours of the day and night are a bit trying. Of course, Andrew is right there with us, and yet he never seems to be tired.

I asked him, "Andrew, isn't it about time you told us? We are your wives, you know."

He looked surprised. I know that look. It's his 'I'm surprised' look when he was really not a bit surprised. "Told you what, Dee Dee?"

I was a bit touchy. I'm tired. "Andrew, don't make me go through this again. You always know exactly what I'm talking about before I even ask the question. Yet you play innocent as if you have no idea where I am going with it. Do we have to torture you, or are you just going to spit it out?"

He was reluctant, I can tell. It was as if he thought we wouldn't like the answer. But Andrew could never keep anything from us.

"Deirdre, do you think I'm insane?"

So he wants to play it this way, huh? Okay, I'll play. "No Andrew, we don't think you are insane. Does that make you feel better?"

He forced the words out. "The girls and I understand each other."

"We know that. We just don't know how or why. We've been with you a whole lot longer, we're thirty-six years old, we're doctoral candidates, and we don't understand you. How can four five-month old babies understand you?"