Free IGMS Issue 8 by IGMS Page A

pain -- I realize Jackie is kidding herself. She has four children; she's already stretched too thin. Raising Paul would be too much for her."
    The shock that had so recently worn off settled in again. "So you want me to take him, after all."
    "There's no one else. You're my best option. Which goes to show you how rotten my options are at this point." Her mouth twitched in a grim smile. "Paul needs more than money. He needs time, lots of it. I know that will be hard for you. You never had time for him. You've never forgiven him for not being Steven."
    "That's not --"
    "Spare me the righteous indignation. It's true, and you know it." She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "Anyway, I'm offering you a chance to prove me wrong. Will you take him or not?"
    He considered, or tried to. He found he could focus coherently on only one thought -- that Marie's first inclination been to leave Paul with Jackie instead of him. That rankled. It hurt.
    "I'll take him. If he'll have me."
    She opened her eyes. "He will."
    "Are you sure?"
    "He'll do it if I ask him. Bring him in here."
    John brought him in. Marie was right. When she told Paul, he nodded.

September 29, 2039
    Sometimes, the adjustments are subtle, minute, even easy. Sometimes, you actually think you're getting a handle on your new circumstances. And other times . . .
    Paul came home today with a snake tattoo on his face. It winds its scaly way across his forehead, between his eyes, beside his nose, across his upper lip, around his mouth, and terminates somewhere under his chin.
    Apparently, it's something of a fad among kids born of cloned cells; God knows why. They wear them like badges of honor.
    Paul got the idea from his buddy Keith, of course. Keith has a large lizard on his left cheek. Bad enough that he's a hulking delinquent three years older than Paul. He seems to be Paul's only real friend, and the influence he exerts scares me. Sure, they're both clone-conceived, but why can't this kid hang out with others his own age? On days like this, I wish Paul was the only clone at his school, that he had no friends at all.
    A snake. Perfect. I can only imagine how well that will go over during job interviews.
    Naturally, I was livid. Paul just nodded when I asked him if it was permanent. I'm sure he was expecting me to explode. God knows I wanted to scream, but his mother's last request hangs uneasily over me, over both of us. We say very little to each other.
    I wonder if Steven would have been so defiant, had he lived to become a teenager. Would he have turned against me, too?
    Tomorrow I have my first appointment with Paul's junior high guidance counselor. Maybe he can help.
    . . .to be continued in issue 9 . . .



 
The Angel's Touch
     
    by Dennis Danvers
     
    Artwork by Liz Clarke
----

    Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
    -- Luke 12:6-7
    The elevator stops on three as I'm going up, and an angel gets on. He has a terrible time finding room for his wings and arranging them to his satisfaction, standing right up by the buttons to make room for them, and they still bump against the ceiling. He smells sweet and funky like singed feathers baked in honey, and he glows like the elevator buttons. I huddle in the other front corner and try to act casual. He follows me off at six and down the hall, all the way to my apartment.
    "Brian Stark," he says. "I'd like a word with you."
    "You have the wrong guy," I say, sliding the key in the lock, turning it, and leaning on the door. But the door won't budge, not one little bit, like a brick wall.
    "No, I don't," he says. "Don't lie to an angel. It angers us." He brushes my cheek with the feather tip of his glowing wing, and I scream, or try to. The scream won't budge either, lodged in my throat like a cork in a bottle, and I strangle on my pain. I