The Human Equation, Part Deux

This story is part of Chuck Wendig's "four-part story" flash fiction challenge. The rules are these: One person writes the first 1000 words of a story. Then another person writes the next 1000 words, and so on, until there are four parts and 4000 words. I'm jumping in at part two. I've chosen to continue nkharrold's beginning, which was a great kick-start to a story. I hope I can do it justice!

Note: nkharrold's writing is in green, and mine is in black.

The Human Equation

“Dad, I think it would be best for my emotional growth if I moved into my own apartment. You are always pushing me to be more self-sufficient and independent, but I can’t reach my potential if I’m still relying on you for so much. Please, take a moment to think this through. Isn’t this the next logical step?”

“Absolutely not! What’s to keep you from having drug filled sex orgies and becoming a delinquent? I’m not having my daughter get pregnant at sixteen!”

“Oh. My. God. You are ridiculous.”

“I’m your father! I didn’t raise you to-”

“No, Rory, I mean you’re being ridiculous. My dad would never react like that and you know it.”

“Hey! You’re supposed to stay in character!”

“Rory, I’m not a character! I’m supposed to be myself in this scenario! And you’re supposed to be my dad, not Leave it to Beaver’s dad. Come on… delinquent? Who says that?”

“Well…” Rory started, her large dark eyes glancing around her room sheepishly, “My mom says it all the time. She says if I keep putting up posters of guys on my walls, that I’ll get boy crazy and become a delinquent.”

“Ha! You already are boy crazy! You’ve been boy crazy since you were, like, ten!”

“Shut up, Chloe! I am not! I’m just looking for Mister Right.”

“Again, you are ridiculous. You should be looking for a driver’s permit.”

“Whatever. Why are we even practicing this? We both know your dad is going to say yes. You have, like, the coolest dad ever. He lets you do anything you want.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. None of her friends ever seemed to understand when it came to her dad.

“First, he is like the farthest thing from cool. He spent my entire ninth birthday party explaining how the light photons from the candles worked. Everybody got so bored after two hours they left. I didn’t even get a chance to open my presents until the next day.”

“Well, nerdy is kinda cool now.”

“He wears socks with his sandals!”

“Well, he does let you dye your hair any color you want.”

“That’s because he tried to invent a nano-programed shampoo that styles your hair as you wash it.”

“That actually sounds kinda cool.”

“It made all my hair fall out! I spent all of fourth grade getting tons of ‘get well soon’ cards cause everyone thought I had leukemia. Yeah, he lost all rights to say anything about my hair after that.”

Rory grimaced.

“Yeah, that sounds really sucky.”

“Your family at least watches movies and TV together. When I try to hang out with my dad, he won’t shut up about String Theory and Quantum Tunneling.”

“I’ve never heard of those shows.”

“They’re… never mind.” Chloe slumped on the bed and ran her fingers through her green and white hair, feeling suddenly exhausted. She didn’t resent her dad, or at least she didn’t think she did. But the past couple of years had been so difficult. They used to laugh and talk and go on ‘scientific adventures’. Hell, she had paid such rapt attention to him during his diatribe on photons that she hadn’t even noticed that the other guests had left the birthday party. Now, they struggled to say more than a few words to each other.

“I should get going.” She sighed.

“You okay Chloe?” Rory asked, genuine concern showing in her large eyes.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You gonna ask about the apartment?”

“Yeah. Probably tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

As Chloe drove her father’s ’79 Volvo wagon, which weighed more than a Sherman Tank, she couldn’t stop thinking about how much things had changed between her and her father. Deep down, she knew Dad hadn’t really changed. She had been the variable in the equation– she had been the one that changed their relationship simply by growing up. Part of her still wanted to just see him as the hero that knew everything. But a growing part of her was so frustrated at how little he knew about people, especially her. It was like he still saw her as that little girl that drank in his words and not someone nearly a full adult – a near equal.

She parked the Volvo in front of the brick apartment building she called home. Grandpa had left it to them in his will free and clear when he had passed. There were seven living units, but none of the original tenants had stayed more than a year after Dad had become the landlord. He had a habit of neglecting, well, everything. The last straw had been when he converted the basement laundry room into his own personal laboratory. Now it was just the two of them in Unit 1, and if he agreed to her request, she would get her own unit.

Swinging the front door open, she stepped into the main atrium stairwell. The large room was strangely dark, the only light weakly sifting through the glass in the ceiling. Her footsteps echoed loudly. She noticed the sharp smell of something burned wafting through the air.

“Dad?” she asked weakly.

Still no sounds but her own breathing.

The lab. Of course, he would be in the lab.

Walking to the metal door stenciled with the words “laundry”, she opened it and made her way down the concrete steps to the basement. His lab, normally a disastrous mess, looked as though a hurricane had swept through. A single light flickered in the corner, flashing distorted shadows across the room. Something glass shattered on the far side of the room.

“Dad? Is that you?”

She took a tentative step.

A hand gripped her shoulder.

“Chlo-bo!”

“Jesus H Christ, dad!”

He stood next to her, smiling broadly. There were dark smudges on his face and one of the lenses in his glasses looked cracked.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

She looked around the room as something metal clanged.

“Dad… what happened?”

“Something great! Well, probably great! Here, I’ll show you. Just…” he held his fingers up and started towards the far end of the room, “just wait there.”

When Jon Urquhart returned to his daughter, her eyes bulged and her mouth went agape. When she didn’t say anything for nearly a minute, he laughed anxiously and ran his hand through his receding hair.

“So…Chloe… What do you think of it?”

Finally, her mouth closed and with effort she planted her eyes on him and not the… other thing.

“Dad… I’m moving upstairs.”

"I knew you'd like it! It's a she, actually, I think. I was searching for strings and I found her trapped in the space between the seventh and eighth dimensions, just squeezed in there, poor thing!"

She glanced back and forth between Chloe and Jon, grinning like a giddy three-year-old. She stood as tall as Chloe, and twice as skinny, except for her face, which was extra broad to make room for that goofy smile. Her three eyes lolled on stalks that poked out of her head like rabbit ears. Her skin glistened jade like a crocodile, though it was definitely skin, and not scales. She was naked except for a big paper bag from Target.

"Her name's Erma. She doesn't understand much English, but she's a quick learner."

"Dad, I'm moving upstairs!"

"You're what? Oh, I'm sorry Erma, could you give us just a minute?"

"Erma," the creature croaked.

"Yes, yes, you're Erma. Please wait here, I'll be right back."

They left the laboratory and climbed the stairs back to the atrium. Jon removed his glasses and wiped at the smudges on his face, which actually just spread them around.

"So you've been thinking about moving upstairs."

"Yes, Dad, that's what I said."

"Chloe, I think you're still too young to be living on your own."

"I'm sixteen, Dad! I'm practically an adult."

"Practically? I'm not sure you know what that word means. You haven't proven yourself to be a responsible adult, and certainly not responsible enough to throw around big words you don't understand."

Chloe had practiced this one, so she knew exactly what to say. "Of course I haven't proven myself. You haven't given me a chance. I can handle myself. Just let me show you."

"Hm. You're proposing an experiment."

Her eyes bulged, and a smile crept across her lips. "Yes. That's exactly it."

"Consider this. I have a hypothesis that you are responsible enough to live on your own. The laboratory will be Unit Five upstairs. The materials will be Erma the extradimensional alien."

The smile fled her face. "What?"

"Erma will be your roommate. She can look out for you, at least until you've proven yourself."

"No way. I'm not rooming with an alien. End of story."

"Sweetie, this is a big step. Living alone for the first time is no walk in the park. This way, you'll be free from Daddy's ever-watchful eye, but you won't have to be alone."

"But Erma has three eyes. And God knows you'll make her spy on me."

"She's a nice girl, Chloe. You two might actually get along."

Chloe crossed her arms and glared at him.

"Think about it," he said. "That's my proposition."

Chloe did think about it. She slept on it for a whole weekend, and complained to her pillow while she dozed about how unfair it all was. On Sunday she talked it over with Rory on the phone for three hours. In the end, Rory was incredibly jealous that Chloe got to move out at all.

So Chloe moved into Unit Five with an extradimensional alien named Erma.

The first thing she noticed about living on her own is that it was awesome. She got her own kitchen, and she could make meals as unhealthy as she wanted and no one would chastise her. She could sleep in on the weekends until the sun crossed the top of the sky, and no one would complain. She could blast her music as loud as she liked and dance around the living room and no one woud yell at her to turn it down.

The first thing she noticed about living with an alien is that it was horrendous. She had her own bedroom (thank God) but she had to share a bathroom with Erma, and it always smelled like horseradish sauce. Erma showered for hours on end, and almost always climbed in just before Chloe needed a shower. And worst of all, Erma never stopped talking. Most of it was garbled baby talk, but every now and then she would emit a coherent sentence describing her boring adventures shopping for yarn or something.

But Chloe wanted to prove to her father that she was a responsible adult, so she kept her mouth shut about these things and put on a pleasant smile. She behaved very well indeed for almost a whole three weeks. That was when Zane Farthing discovered she had her very own apartment.

"And you can do anything you want?" Zane marveled.

Chloe acted cool. "Yeah. Of course."

"Awesome. My brother got his hands on a bottle of vodka. We just need somewhere to drink it."

"Sorry, Zane. Not my place. My father --"

"I thought you said you could do anything you wanted."

"Her father's doing an experiment on her," Rory said. "If she behaves, she gets to ditch the roommate."

"You have a roommate? Is she cool?"

"No, Zane. We aren't drinking at my place."

"Oh, come on, Chloe," Rory said. "It'll be fun. You've never gotten drunk before, right?"

Chloe blushed and looked at her feet.

"Yes," Rory said. "I knew it. Now you have to say yes."

"Yeah, come on, Chloe," Zane said.

"Fine," she chirped. Then she lowered her voice. "But we have to wait until my roommate is asleep."