Genesis

Copyright © 2013 by Maribel Alice.

ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-4931-1144-2

   Ebook   978-1-4931-1145-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously,

and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead,

events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 10/01/2013

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Contents

Acknowledgements

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Dedicated to family and friends

With love

Acknowledgements

Thanks to my family, for all the support provided over the past few months and to the friends that encouraged me to keep going even when I felt overwhelmed with work. None of this would have been possible without Marissa Triplett, for all the advice given out the goodness of her heart, to Debra Triplett for making me write faster waiting for the next chapter, offering various ideas on possible plots. Last, but not least, Alice, the best dog in the world, who spent a lot of hours sitting by my side without complaining.

Thanks to Michelle Grieco and Ruby Triplett for giving up their time freely, without expectations.

Chapter 1

Lucinda Gomez woke up with a loud yawn. Another cold day, she thought climbing out of bed.

Contemplating herself in the mirror Lucy noticed that she had lost weight. At just twenty one Lucy was slim and not very tall. Thanks to her gene pool, she had a perfectly oval-shaped face with gentle cheeks and arched eyebrows. Her lips were well defined and full, moist and plum red. Her nose was straight with a slight pointed tip. Deep brown, dark eyes, gave her that Spanish look. Her independence was mirrored in her confident, direct gaze. Black hair hung wild to her waist. She clipped it up, as it distracted her from doing work. It often landed on a palette of paint or in her coffee cup if she wasn’t careful. Lucy dressed in jeans and a loose jumper. Her soft leather boots were comfortable to wear and, as long as she was warm, she didn’t care much for fashion.

The bustling city of Fremantle held a rich mixture of cultures and nationalities. Historic buildings were used by residents and businesses alike, and more importantly, it felt like home. Lucy felt the past and the present merging beautifully together.

Typically on a Saturday morning she went to the markets and today was no different. Incense wafted strongly in the air and she bought fresh fish and crepes from the small stalls. She lost herself in the crowd, listening to buskers and the sound of didgeridoos. The smell of honey was intoxicating and she could not resist buying the wattle variety, but not before trying every other type of honey on offer.

She walked to the Round House, the oldest remaining building in Western Australia. It was built as a gaol with eight cells opening up into a central courtyard. The stone prison was cold to the touch, but its proximity to the sea made the building a nice place to stand still and feel the cool, salty breeze. It was the one structure that reminded her of the old castles, a statement of history and lives past, tragedy and survival.

In the evening Lucy read books. She searched for meaning in anthropology, religion and mythological stories. She often argued with her friends about life and the universe in general. Not a great conversation to bring to parties, but all she ever heard her friends talk about was who drank the most, who ended up wasted and who went home with whom. Lucy was no angel, nonetheless.

Another long week at Uni finished with lectures and tutorials. Lucy was glad it was Friday. Her hands were messy with the remnants of paints and charcoal as she put away her drawings into a big folder. The large studio spaces had white walls dominating as areas to be used for display. The drawing studio was a bohemian place with alternative characters. A man, thirty years old or so, modeled for the class. Her colleagues teased her for her use of exaggeration of certain body parts drawn. She could do nothing but have a good laugh with them. The sun was going down over Perth as she walked to her car.

George Temps waited for her after class. He studied literature because his parents pushed him into it. Lucy and George had known each other since high school. He was as gay as they came and she enjoyed his company and good heart. He was a genuine friend always looking for affection and a bit of conversation.

Hey, George called out, how was your drawing class?

Great. How’re you going?

Not bad. We should catch up this weekend. Why don’t you come out tomorrow and meet my friends?

I don’t know . . . I have a lot of work to do this week.

C’mon, don’t be such a bore. I’d rather go to the Hot Spot than read English lit! Besides, it’ll be my birthday soon.

OK, then . . . and what’s the Hot Spot?

It’s a gay nightclub in Arcadia St. Don’t worry, no one will annoy you ’cause I’ll protect you. I promise. We’ll just have a couple of drinks and a dance, OK?

No worries. George smiled widely and Lucy continued," I’ll see you on Saturday then, and by the way, what do you want for your birthday?

Just a hug will do! George walked away happily.

Lucy remembered George being picked-on all through school. She often supported him by hanging around and going for walks, ignoring the bullies. He had grown to be a handsome man, with short brown hair and gentle hazel eyes. His skin was smooth and tanned. Lucy thought that he looked like a gypsy. George dressed mostly in black with chains hanging from his pockets. Now and again they got together for a chat and a few drinks.

The evening was closing in. Her house in South Fremantle was cozy even though it was small, old and raggedy. It had character and she loved it. It was hybrid Federation in style, the Australian suburban house with Art Deco lead lights and wooden shutters; a single storey brick and tile house with a spacious verandah.

Lucy looked forward to summer when she would sit at the front with a glass of wine, watching the sunset. The hippies that lived there before her painted orange walls in the lounge room, and there were remnants of 1920’s wallpaper in various rooms. The high ceilings were decorated with plaster embellishments and the walls were filled with her paintings and drawings.

Lucy walked into her tiny lounge room and turned the TV on to watch the news as she drank some coffee. A sad story caught her attention as the news reader announced that two young women disappeared on their way home from a night out. There were no witnesses and distraught parents called desperately for information. The nights are dangerous, she thought.

She felt the pain of the loss, the anguish of both girls, and the sadness of their parents. The pain was intense, as if she witnessed the horrible moment herself. Lucy hated this feeling. Since she was a little girl she felt things, weird things that used to make her sick at times. She didn’t know what the feelings were, or where they came from or what they meant, but she learned to block them very quickly.

Lucy imagined a current of water washing away whatever it was bothering her; the strength of a wave hitting her sideways, cleansing, soothing water, all encompassing. That thought made her feel better. She also felt wonderful things, strong emotional connections to friends, family, and situations, almost non-rational. In a bus full of people Lucy could pick up a range of emotions and insights, as if mental probes reached towards her. It was too much to bare at times.

Her parents never encouraged her special ability. The lack of empathy forced Lucy to accept whatever happened without question and without understanding. Now she sensed the fear surrounding the girls’ disappearance, and there was nothing that she could do about it except hope that somebody would have seen something and come forward.

Lucy snuggled into bed after the weather report. She had a restless night thinking about the two girls. She knew they were alive, just knew it, somewhere not far away. That sixth sense never let her down.

The morning was cold and misty. Evidence of rain still lingered on the window panels. After some cereal for breakfast, Lucy had a great idea for George’s birthday present. She looked through her bookshelf, a wonderful collection of art books, novels, Spanish literature and odds and ends. She found a book about the history of erotic art, a compilation of works from all over the world.

Wow, I forgot I had this . . . George is going to enjoy his gift! Lucy spoke aloud with great amusement.

Flicking through the book, she saw a great variety of drawings and paintings from the 17th century to modern times. A series of ink drawings caught her attention. They were made by an artist revealing a rich fantasy world of homosexual nature. Penises galore in here! It’s just the thing for my friend! She put pen to paper and drew an image full of entertaining penises for George. She coloured the drawing with bright inks. Two hours later and very pleased with her design, she thought about what George would say about her present.

The pub was one form of entertainment that she enjoyed from time to time for the purpose of listening to some blues, cover bands or original music. The idea of the Hot Spot sounded intimidating somehow, but she couldn’t hurt her friend by cancelling. She’d just have to stick to the plan and go anyway. Besides, Lucy was open-minded about gay people and she never had any prejudices.

George rang her after lunch to arrange a pick up time. She had a few hours up her sleeve to do some homework and read two chapters of The Silver Wattle.

It was getting close for George’s arrival and Lucy went to her room to get dressed. She grabbed a crushed velvet top, very 80’s in style. It covered her arms but exposed her shoulders. The top hugged her figure beautifully and her small breasts were defined and well lifted by her lace bra. As it was cold, she wore black stockings and a wooly skirt down to her knees. Her silver garnet necklace matched the red top. Lucy hardly wore high heels, but tonight she had to wear them, even if she felt like she was walking on eggshells. She had to admit it, they were pretty, plum-red like her top with a couple of diamantes over the toe strap and the rim. A little bit of lipstick and eye-shadow, with a splash of Love-that-Red perfume and she was ready. Her hair hung long and loose.

George was never late. He knocked at the door and Lucy opened it straight away.

Hi. Good to see you . . . Lucy looked George up and down. You look . . . good!

He was dressed in a loose black shirt, the buttons only half done up. His chest was revealing enough for her to look elsewhere. His trousers were tight fitting, outlining a good looking body and well defined legs. The long leather jacket looked like something out of Underworld, neat, long and his shoes shiny.

Well thanks. You look pretty good to me. George answered with wide eyes. He did not expect to see her looking so gorgeous, as he was used to seeing her dressed like an art student with casual clothes. Don’t you look edible?

Lucy blushed a little.

Hey, I have your birthday present. I made it this morning. Here it is.

Lucy handed him the drawing unwrapped, as she thought wrapping