Chapter Thirty-Seven (Part Two)

By now Melody had to keep wondering why she seemed to be ‘chosen’ by these beings. Most had never been ‘abducted,’ and this was now her second time. After being beamed up to the spaceship’s control room, Melody looked around, part in disgust and part in wonder. “Where am I and what am I doing here?”
Stella Terrano stepped up. She was wearing a crisp white uniform and her short black hair was slicked back on her head. “You summoned us.”
“I did?” Melody said in disbelief.
“Yes, you did. With your flashlight.”
“Wait a minute, not anyone can just put a flashlight to a telescope and get whisked away on a spaceship.”
“No, they can’t. That takes a special talent, possessed by someone who’s done this before.”
“I’ve -- I’ve never done it before.”
Stella encircled Melody. “When you came the first time, we inserted a chip inside of you.”
“A chip?”
“A microchip that is undetectable by the naked human eye. You don’t even know it’s there.”
“How -- how did it get there?”
The alien pod leader stepped forward. “We put it in there. We sedated you while we inserted the chip in a covert operation. In human time it only took a few seconds, but it’s a few hours our time. We do it to every human who comes up here.”
“So, I’ve been walking around for five years with a microchip inside of me and I didn’t find out until tonight?”
“That’s correct. We’ve monitored your every move, your every motion, everything you do. We’ve even watched you bathe.”
“Watched me bathe? But -- why would you want to look at me bathe?”
“For the last four years, you have been one of the subjects of our experiments. And, I have to tell you, we have found you fascinating. So fascinating, in fact, that we’re sending one of our own to shadow you.”
When Melody was ejected from the ship, Stella Terrano followed. I can’t believe I have to babysit this brat, Stella thought to herself.
Hurtling back to terra firma at warp speed, Melody and Stella hit the asphalt with a mighty thud. Rubbing their heads in unison, they exchanged bewildered and disgusted glares. How on earth were they going to live with each other? How would Melody, accustomed to keeping her own company, adjust to having a green shadow around her all the time? And if that weren’t bad enough, the other denizens of the dorm crowded around the departing spaceship to see what was going on. Had they seen what they thought they saw -- or was it merely a mirage? Whatever it was, Melody had to do her best to keep her secret a secret, which would be much easier said than done.

Dr. Katherine Lyons was among the noted artists in the area, and as an adjunct professor of art at Academie Le Tour, she taught a couple of classes. One of them was advanced portraiture. Dr. Lyons' advanced portraiture class was among the most sought-after art classes at Le Tour. A student had to demonstrate substantial artistic ability just to get into the class, and most of the students in it were junior and senior art majors.
Dr. Lyons divided the students into pairs, one student to paint, the other to be the subject. She paired Melody with Allegra Gorey, and Melody couldn't help but steal a few extra glances at the lanky transfer student with the pasty white complexion and the frosty manner to match.
"Okay, which of us is going to be the artist and which of us is going to be the subject?" asked Melody.
Allegra turned away from her and didn't respond.
Just who does she think she is, Melody thought to herself. Whipping out her paintbrushes, Melody decided to paint Allegra, her arms resolutely folded, her profile fixed like granite.
"Portraiture is the most difficult of the artistic disciplines. One of the major tenets of portraiture is to pay attention to your subject," Dr. Lyons admonished. "A portrait artist cannot capture every single feature of his or her subject, but it is the duty of that artist to capture those elements that lend credence to the interpretation of the subject."
Melody glanced again at Allegra. Her straight black hair sat down on her head like a helmet, weighted down with heavy oils and conditioners. And she wore dark glasses that hid her eyes.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. But what if those windows were slammed shut? How can one tell what a person is like then?
Melody then remembered her summer painting lessons with Darren Dreamer. What Dr. Lyons had been saying wasn't new to her. Portraiture was a challenging discipline to master. Sure, she could paint as many moons and stars as she wanted, and do them well. But getting the hang of the nuances of people's faces was a great challenge to her. Especially since she really didn't like people very much. She could count on one hand how many people she actually tolerated.
Portraiture was all about perception, Melody decided. How was she going to perceive Allegra on the canvas?
Allegra kept shooting angry glances at Melody. What does she have against me? Melody wondered as she mixed up white and peach paints to produce an ocher porcelain for Allegra's skin.
Advanced portraiture was a three-hour seminar class, so the students had to paint as much as they could in the allotted time. "What are you doing here?" Melody asked.
"I was just about to ask you the same question," muttered Allegra as she washed her hands alongside Melody.
"I take this class."
"You're only a freshman, why are you here? Only juniors and seniors even get in here."
"How do you know I'm a freshman?"
"The campus directory says a lot about you -- who you are, where you stay on campus, what your major is --"
Melody took a deep breath. "Hey, this isn't a police interrogation, you know."
Reluctantly, Allegra extended her hand. "Allegra Gorey, I transferred here from Sim State."
Melody took it, just as reluctantly, and was briefly shocked when she felt the thin bony fingers and the hard calluses. Yes, this was indeed the hand of a true artist, as Melody's hands had the same callused ridges too, although a few more had been added, when she'd started working on the robot crafting workbench.
"You've got a man's hands," Allegra cracked.
Melody shot back, "I've got my father's hands. He was a toymaker. He spent all day at workbenches."
"A toymaker?" Allegra scoffed. "I thought those went by the wayside years ago."
"Well, he was a cop, but he and my mom both made wooden toys on the side."
"Kids don't play with those anymore."
Melody winced. "You'd be surprised."
"And how would you know?"
Melody was defensive. "Believe me, I -- I just know."
Allegra leaned over to see what Melody was doing.
"Hey, are you going to keep still so I can paint you or what?" Melody snapped.
Allegra reluctantly folded her arms as Melody continued to paint. Dr. Lyons nodded her head in approval as she passed by. When class disbursed for the day, Melody walked over to the sink to wash her hands.

The next afternoon Dr. Hyden paced nervously around Aspirational Laboratories. “Do you need anything, Doctor?” a lady bringing coffee mugs around asked.
“No, thanks,” the prof mumbled.
“Are you waiting for someone?”
No sooner had the lady asked that than Melody arrived at the door -- and she had Chester in tow. “Well if it isn’t Miss Tinker -- and she’s brought Mr. Gieke with her, what a surprise.”
“Let’s make one thing clear,” Melody said, stepping up to the professor. “I’m not here to play games.”
“Neither am I, Miss Tinker.”
“You told me to meet you here. Why?”
Dr. Hyden took a deep breath. “I know that you’re still in possession of the cowplant formula, and I know that you’re still doing experiments against nature. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Really?”
“I’m here because this is where they do the DNA tests.”
Melody nodded. “So you agree this needs to be done?”
“Yes, if for no other reason than my own peace of mind.”
Dr. Hyden and Melody walked up to the machines. A lot of thoughts went through their minds. An accident of fate had brought them together, but what if they were actually related by blood?
The notion of her department head being her biological father left an uneasy sensation in her spine and a bad taste in her mouth. Melody stole a glance backward at Chester, who let loose a wan smile.
Dr. Hyden and Melody sat in chairs right next to each other. Neither of them could bear affording the other a mere peep as laboratory workers drew vials of blood from each of them. The answer wouldn’t come this afternoon, or the next, or the next. It would be a winding conclusion to an agonizing wait that began the September afternoon that Stephen Tinker was buried. The question of Melody’s paternity would finally be answered. Or would it?
They say that the truth should set you free. In Melody’s case, would the truth bind her even further? Or, at this point, did the truth even matter? What was the truth?
What Melody Tinker had known as ‘truth’ for eighteen years had been poked, prodded, ripped apart at the seams. She knew that she was raised by two people who loved and cared for her, that was all she knew. Many kids didn’t have two parents. Some had one -- or none. She should consider herself lucky.
So why was she here? Why was she sitting in a laboratory, next to a man she despised, in a half-assed effort to determine if he was her biological father? Why was she being poked and prodded with needles? She was supposed to be the one doing the experiments, not the one being experimented on. What was she seeking here?
Validation.
All this time, all this work, she wanted to know she was on the right course. But what course? Just where in fact was she going? It seemed so easy when she was younger. It was, study like mad, make the best grades, and then spend her free time learning more stuff. But now, it wasn’t so easy. Now she had to worry about a ‘social life.’ People wondering why, up to now, she’d never really had one. People whispering about her behind her back. Some, like Chaz Whippler, asking her uncomfortable questions right to her face.
Now, though, had Melody really gone too far? And, more importantly, what could she do about it?