Chapter one: Lucille
Lucille was born on a rainy morning on the first of January in the year 2000. She was bloody and messy like any other baby, and she screamed just as loudly.
On the day of her birth, nobody suspected who or what she was.
One remarkable thing—which, incidentally, the doctor noted as remarkable—was that for the entire first week of January 2000, there was not a single sick baby in Lucille's ward. Not a sniffle, not a cough, not a bone bent out of shape.
Remarkable indeed.
Had they known that Lucille was the cause of this remarkable occurrence, she would have spent much more time in that hospital. But they didn't, so she didn't.
When she was five years old, her parents began to realize that Lucille never got ill. Come to think of it, no one in the house had been ill since Lucille was born. As all people do with such remarkable revelations, her parents put it down to luck and coincidence.
"Luck," a word used by the blind masses to describe the moments they actually get the word and deed part right. But we'll talk about that later.
At ten years old, Lucille's homeroom teacher remarked on how remarkably healthy her class was. Not a sniffle, not a cough, and apparent broken bones always turned out to be fast-healing bruises.
Remarkable, or not? Maybe just luck and coincidence?
Luckily for Lucille, she was considered normal and never relegated to the department of freaks and geeks in the playground. It was noted, however, that the child never spoke a negative word—ever. She spoke very little but always seemed to say a lot. One could set one's clock by this child's wisdom.
A remarkable child indeed. Yet unremarkable and unnoticed by all around her.
Lucille was normal. She was loved by her parents. The fact is, she was very easy to love. Can you imagine a child who never gets ill, never speaks a negative word, and puts others around her first? A rare occurrence indeed.
Lucille had one negative trait, though. Her father tried with all his might—including groundings, scoldings, threats, and promises—to get her to break this terrible habit. She was a **serial giver**. She would give her toys away, her nicest clothes, food from their cupboards, even her own plate of food. If someone had less than Lucille, she would make it her personal mission to remedy this terrible crime. Her parents continually tried to teach her the principle of moderation, but what does a ten-year-old know of moderation?
Homeless shelters, soup kitchens, orphanages—all knew Lucille. They referred to her as an angel. Her generosity moved many to tears. One of the organizers remarked that it was a shame that such wonderful children were only going through a phase of giving. "How sad," said she, "that this phase will soon pass."
It was on her thirteenth birthday, the first of January 2013, that her parents got their wake-up call. Lucille was not normal. Not by a long shot.
At one second past midnight, Lucille's parents were awoken by an earthquake. Well, it felt like an earthquake. The entire house was shaking and creaking, and things were crashing to the floor.
Lucille's father sprinted out of his room and down the hall to his daughter's room, where he paused for a few seconds to ponder the bright light coming from under her door. He steeled his wits, however, and burst through her door to rescue her from whatever strange occurrence was taking place.
One can only imagine the emotions that run through a father when he sees his daughter suspended in mid-air, with beams of light flowing out of her—or was it into her? He couldn't be sure. His daughter just floated there, hands folded across her chest, head raised towards the ceiling, with beams of light going in and out of her. He shouted, "Lucille!" but nothing happened.
At exactly one minute past midnight, the light show stopped, and his daughter sank slowly to the ground, where she lay down and went back to sleep.
Her father rubbed his eyes vigorously and pinched himself, but nothing in the room changed. His daughter was still lying on her bedroom floor, asleep, as if nothing had happened. "You are not dreaming, I saw it too," he spun around and saw his wife at the doorway. "What the hell just happened?" his voice sounded shaky in his own ears. "I don't know," said his wife, "but I think we had better put her back in her bed and call the doctor." He gently scooped her up and carried her to bed. It was five minutes past midnight. It's amazing how things that happen so fast can seem to take up so much time. To her parents, Lucille's event must have felt like minutes, not seconds. The next few minutes, however, were going to feel like hours.
At approximately ten minutes past midnight, Lucille's mother was on the phone with the doctor when something the size of a soda can came crashing through the bedroom window. It bounced off Lucille's dresser and rolled to the center of the room. There were a few seconds of silence as Lucille's parents stared at the strange canister before it exploded. First, a bright flash of light and the loudest bang they had ever heard. For both of them, the room spun around, their ears whistled, and their eyes watered.
Lucille's dad stumbled sideways and fell over the laundry basket. Lucille's mother managed to find the wall to her right and leaned against it. The loud bang obviously woke Lucille, and she sat up, bewildered and confused at the loud ruckus.
Then the first man came crashing through the window and unhitched himself from a rope attached to something outside. He wore a black mask and lots of body armor, like those SWAT guys Lucille had seen on TV. The rest of the men came through the door in single file, guns aimed dangerously ahead of them. They did not make a sound, just moved straight to her dad, shot him in the head, and did the same to her mother.
Except her parents did not die. The bullets seemed to crash into a shield of some sort around their bodies.
One of the men made a sign with his hands and motioned to two of the others, who promptly moved towards Lucille. She held out her hands and cried out, "Please don't hurt me!"
It was then that the next bang went off, like a loud thunderclap, and a white-robed figure, also wearing a mask, appeared in the room between Lucille and the armed men. He made a gesture with his hands, and two balls of light came flying out of him, smashing into the two men nearest to Lucille, sending them flying across the room.
When we say 'balls of light came out of him,' it is as literal an explanation as we can give. To Lucille, it felt like she was dreaming up a sci-fi movie where Yoda might come through the door next.
For a few moments, the robed figure stood facing the rest of the armed men. Light glowed menacingly in his hands, and they all seemed hesitant to move against him.
He slowly reached into his robes and produced a piece of paper, which he passed to Lucille. All the while, his attention never left the armed men in the room.
She opened the piece of paper and read the note. It read: "I am a friend. Shield me."
The room exploded into chaos as the leader of the armed men opened fire, and his men followed suit. Bullets slammed into the walls and cupboards, glass shattered, and the white-robed figure got hit in the chest, sending him flying backwards over Lucille's bed. Lucille cried out and tried to catch the figure as he went past her. As she touched him, she felt a light shock, like static electricity, and he rolled backwards, landing on his feet. His hands moved again, and this time it was the leader of the intruders who got his attention. Lucille saw the air between the figure and the leader distort, and the leader was hammered out of the window. It looked like he had been brutally smacked with a massive invisible bat, or spade, or fridge... The guy simply crumpled and crashed through the window like a ragdoll. All in amazing high-definition slow motion! Just like the movies.
More bullets hit the white-robed figure, but this time he grabbed Lucille's hand, the light shock again, and he was on his feet. This time, bullets were bouncing off him like sparks at a fireworks show. He showed her the 'thumbs up' sign and vaulted over the bed. Now he was between her and the armed men again, the air around him humming and whizzing as bullets flew in all directions. He made a gesture with his free hand—this time a slower, more deliberate motion—and formed a floating ball of living energy in front of him. It was about the size of a tennis ball at first but grew to the size of a watermelon as he moved his hand around it in a continuous, fluid motion. Then he stopped and looked up at the men in the room. They promptly dropped their weapons and fled. He pulled his hand away, and the orb disappeared.
There were a few moments of silence before the shock wore off and Lucille's mother began to sob. Her father just sat there, where he had fallen earlier, eyes wide as saucers, staring at the white-robed figure in the room.
Lucille cleared her throat—it felt like she had been chewing gravel and lemon—and managed to speak: "Who..."
The figure spun around and held a finger to his mask to show her to be silent. She coughed and started to whisper, but he waved his hands vigorously and placed his finger on her lips this time. She looked at him quizzically and submitted. He then produced a pen and notebook from his robe, and she saw him scribble something on a page, which he hurriedly handed to her.
The note read: "Don't speak. They can track us when we speak."
He kept scribbling and passed her another note: "You and I must go. They will be here soon again with much worse weapons."
She pointed at her parents and shook her head.
He scribbled again and handed her another note: "Your parents have to come with us."
He grabbed her hand and gently pulled; she complied and followed him to her mother. They helped her mother to her feet, and all three made their way over to her father.
Suddenly they heard the sound of tires screeching outside, car doors opening and slamming, and what sounded like a helicopter above. The figure looked up and quickly grabbed Lucille and her mother's hands; he then touched her father with his foot, and immediately the air around them shimmered.
There was a loud 'boom,' like a thunderclap, and they were gone.