Hyper:
The Novel
By
Lawrence Ambrose
Copyright 2017
All Rights Are Reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced without permission of the author.
Proofread and Edited by Sweet Syntax
Cover by Lawrence Ambrose
COMMENTS, QUESTIONS, OR COMPLAINTS? Please email me at: [email protected]
Part 1
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
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Part 2
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Part 1
Chapter 1
MY UNIVERSE CHANGED THE day the hot eighteen-year-old blond girl wolf-howled at me in the library.
I was minding my own business as usual, checking out Rudy Rucker's new novel, AFTER THE POST-SINGULARITY, when this girl – more of a woman, really – strolled by, paused to stare at me, and cried: "Aiieeouuhh!"
At first I thought she was expressing pain. Or maybe I'd offended her sensibilities? When she winked at me, I looked around, searching for the true object of her affections. But there was just me and Keith, who was nudging my shoulder hard enough to raise a bruise.
The girl's broad smile and her large blue eyes gazing straight into mine confirmed that I had just entered an alternative universe. I might’ve been hallucinating if not for Keith's persistent nudging. Definitely not dreaming, because my dreams were never that stupidly unrealistic.
The girl scowled and sort of shook herself, as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done, either. She spun on one heel and strode in the opposite direction.
"Was that real?" I whispered.
"I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation," said Keith.
"Like what?"
"Maybe she's a werewolf?"
I laughed weakly, leaning against the shelves of science fiction novels. Science fiction was my rock.
"Maybe she thought I was someone else?"
"Who?"
"How would I know?"
We checked out our books and walked back toward Jefferson High School.
WHAT A freaking strange day. It was like one of those nightmares where you forget to dress. You're at school and everyone is staring at you. Then you realize in horror that yes, you're naked as a freaking jaybird.
Most days I walked through the day invisible to the taller, older students – especially the beautiful girls who strode through the halls like goddesses. No one paid any attention to me, except in my advanced math and science classes. There, I continued to receive wary respect from my older peers. My teachers called on me as a pet trainer might call on their prize dog to perform tricks. Eventually, I started giving wrong answers just to stop that. I had always been more comfortable in the background, despite my mom's constant assurances that I was "special" and "meant to shine."
Maybe I was shining now on a light spectrum I couldn't see, because today people – well, mostly girls – seemed to be sneaking peaks at me as if I were a lighthouse beacon on a stormy night at sea. If I had any doubt that things had gone seriously weird, I caught my math/nerd-friend, Gertie Flynn and Sonja Wilson – the designated Most Beautiful Girl in Jefferson High – staring dreamily at me in class.
Man, I thought, walking home after school. Maybe this really was all a dream?
But at home, my strange attractor was still switched on, because my twin sister, Melanie (fraternal), shucked off her headphones and offered to make me lunch.
"What's the occasion?" I asked, wary.
"Nothing." She played with a lock of brown hair, smiling at me. "I just had this sudden compulsion to make French toast – Mom's not going to be home until nine and I'm hungry now."
"Okay."
"Sausage and bacon?"
"Sure. Thanks."
She started hauling out pots and pans, sneaking glances at me and then averting her eyes. I lowered my books to the kitchen table, frowning at her.
"How was your day?" she asked.
"Funny you should ask. My day was weird."
"How? What happened?"
"Remember that Twilight Zone where the characters start saying nonsensical things, just a word or two in the beginning, until nothing they say is intelligible?"
"Vaguely." Melanie cracked some eggs.
"Today was a lot like that. It wasn't what they were saying – it was what they were doing. Specifically, how they were acting toward me."
"What do you mean?"
"Well." How to put it without sounding like a delusional megalomaniac? "People seemed to be noticing me. A lot."
"People noticed you?" Melanie faced me with an expression of undiluted terror. "Oh my God no! An alien virus must be making people completely insane!"
I stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes. Melanie laughed and returned to her Home Ed project.
"An older girl wolf-howled at me," I blurted. "A really hot older girl."
Melanie stopped beating the eggs and stared at me. "You're kidding. Where did this happen?"
"At the library."
"Oh. Well, she was probably just messing with you."
"No one's ever messed with me like that before. I would've written it off except that people – well, girls – kept staring at me all day. You know Sonja Wilson? She smiled at me. People like Sonja don't smile at me. They don't even acknowledge my existence."
"True." Melanie stirred the eggs a little slower. "That is kinda strange."
"And now you're making me French toast."
Melanie started whistling the Twilight Zone theme.
"You don't think that's a bit weird?"
"Oh, come on," she snorted. "I'm just being nice."
"But you aren't nice."
I raised my hands as she threatened me with the bowl of batter.
"I'm just saying you've never done this before. I mean, last time Mom came home late you'd drunk the last of the milk and told me 'Walmart's open' when I complained about it."
Melanie scowled at me. "You know, you're starting to make me regret doing this."
"Sorry. But...why did you decide to do it? Just to satisfy my inner scientist."
Melanie started the French toast to sizzling. "I just thought it was as easy to cook for two as for one. Honestly, Aiden, you're letting that big brain of yours over-think again. There's no grand conspiracy here."
She loaded up Mom's coffee machine. The sweet aroma of fresh coffee brewing soon competed with the feverish smells of frying food.
"Didn't Mom tell you not to drink coffee?" I asked.
"One of the perks of being a non-wallflower. I do my own thing. You should try it sometime."
She served up a plate of French toast, bacon, sausage with a tall glass of milk. My stomach rumbled.
"Thanks, Melanie," I said.
She leaned over the table and kissed me on the forehead. She hovered long enough for me look up, startled. Her gold-flecked brown eyes were only inches away. She smiled.
"I never noticed you had such long eyelas
hes before," she said.
I leaned away from her – hard enough to make my chair scrape. She stood up with a frown, pushing her hair back in place before dishing up her own plate.
"Okay," I said. "What is with you today?"
"What do you mean?"
"That eyelash comment. Since when do you make me dinner and compliment me on my eyelashes? Seriously?"
She shrugged, slicing up her French toast. "Eyelashes is a girl thing. We notice stuff like that."
"But that's not you. You're not 'girlie' at all."
"Maybe I'm just growing up. And speaking of noticing things, have you bothered to notice that I'm not a little girl anymore? I'm biologically an adult."
"If you say so."
"Do you want to me to prove it?" Her eyes flared.
"Mel, dude, you're starting to scare me."
I said it with a smile, but I really was scared. I wondered if my sister might be losing it. I wondered if the whole school was losing it. Or – scariest of all – was I losing it?
"Did you hear what you just said?" I asked, in as quiet and calm of a voice as I could muster.
At first, I thought she was going to deny it or maybe get angry, but instead her scowl drifted into a puzzled frown.
"Yeah. Huh. That was a little off the rails. Maybe my period's coming early or something."
"I'm trying to eat," I said.
"Sorry." She forked in a mouthful of French toast drowned in maple syrup. "I don't know. I'm kinda not feeling myself for some reason."
"You and a lot of other people," I muttered.
"Maybe there's something in the air?"
The doorbell rang. We looked at each other. Melanie made a point of helping herself to another piece of French toast.
"Expecting anyone?" she asked.
"Nope."
I basically had two friends, Keith and Gertie, and while Gertie and I occasionally studied together – almost always at her request – most of our socializing was done on weekends.
So I was surprised to open the door to Gertie, laden with books. Except this wasn't the Gertie I knew – she of loose-fitting sweaters, baggy jeans, and makeup-free (she claimed makeup was for soulless cretins). If there was such a thing as a reality horror makeover show, the Gertie standing before me could've been its star. Her lipstick was so thick you could plant corn in it, and her I black eyeliner looked like it was applied by a magic marker.
"Hi," she said with a shaky smile.
"Uh, hi."
"I just thought we might do some studying or something." She lifted the stack of books in her chubby arms.
Just when I didn't think my day could get any stranger.
"I was just eating some early dinner," I said. "You want some French toast?"
"That sounds great. I'm famished."
We paused awkwardly by the kitchen table. Melanie chewed on a slice of bacon.
"Is it Halloween?" she asked Gertie.
Gertie seemed to sag into herself.
"Can we make more French toast and stuff?" I ventured.
"Feel free," said my sister.
"That's okay," said Gertie. "Maybe just a glass of milk or something."
I grabbed a plate and slid an untouched toast and bacon from my plate onto it. I added silverware and a tall glass of milk while Gertie sat there looking awkward and my sister studiously ignored her.
"I don't want to take your dinner," Gert said in a small voice.
"Nah, that was too much," I said.
Afterward, we retired to my bedroom. On the study menu was political science and calculus. Despite her braininess, Gertie had never skipped a grade and was a bona fide sixteen year old junior, one year older than me.
We started with political science, but Gertie's gaudy makeup and over-the-top perfume (it smelled like WD40 mixed with mosquito spray) was messing up my concentration. Gert seemed distracted herself. She kept fiddling with her hair and shifting her body on the bed, bumping into me with alarming frequency, as if the bed were shrinking and forcing us closer and closer.
I finally hopped off the bed and took refuge in my computer chair.
"Something wrong?" Gertie asked, her face flushed.
It was then that I noticed my own body had betrayed me – in a disconcertedly protrusive form. I hastily crossed my legs and affected a casual shrug.
Too late, because Gert was staring straight at my offending area and smiling.
"Nothing to be ashamed of," she said. "You are a guy, after all."
"Nice of you to notice."
"And I'm a girl."
"The insights keep piling up."
She tossed a worksheet at me. It fell gracelessly to the floor halfway between us.
"Is this your first 'rut'?" she asked.
I had no intention of discussing this with Gertie, or with anyone else, for that matter. Over the last several weeks my body had changed as it was supposed to – though some parts more, well, dramatically. I'd have my day or two or three, just like every other guy, when I was "feelin' it,' as they said. No big deal, really, just part of nature...our newly altered nature, that is.
"Yeah," I said, cursing myself for the flush I felt rising in my face. "That must be it."
"That explains a few things." Gertie sat up, dabbing at her perspiring forehead instead. "I haven't been up close and personal with someone entering their 'special time'. At least not that I'm aware of. I'm not that kind of girl." She let out a short laugh. "I've read it can be kinda intense the first time."
"I've read that, too." I smiled and tried to feel relieved, but something was nagging at me. "But it's been going since Friday evening – I mean, I've been feeling a bit, uh, strange starting then – and now it's Monday evening."
"You're within the three-day outer range," Gert assured me. "The first time can be longer and more intense, I've read."
"Yeah, maybe. I have read that women respond more to dudes in their first rut."
"Right. The first time guys usually put out more pheromones. From what I've read."
"So I guess that's what's going on here," I said. Now relief did break through, and I smiled. "And with everyone else today."
"Why, have women been hitting on you?" She said it with a laugh, but her eyes had narrowed.
"Not exactly. More like just paying attention to me."
"I guess that's not surprising. Besides, you are kind of gorgeous, you know?" She tapped herself on the forehead. "Sorry. I think maybe your pheromones are getting to me."
"That's okay."
"Maybe I should go. See you when it's over." She took a shuddering breath. "Unless..."
"Unless?" I forced out the word through my constricting throat.
"You know...you wanted to."
"Uh, well." I made a vague gesture. "I don't have any, ah, birth control."
"But if we did, would you want to?" She frowned and lowered her eyes. "I know I'm no Sonja Wilson."
"I don't know. I mean, it's kind of sudden...and we're, you know, friends?"
"Right. Friends."
Gertie shoved off the bed, gathering her books.
"See you tomorrow."
"Okay. See you then."
MY MOM peeked in my bedroom door a bit before 11. I was stretched out on my bed reading book 4 of the Intelligents series on my tablet. A full-scale war had broken out between the "Intelligents" and humanity. I found myself rooting for the "Intelligents," naturally.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey."
"Sorry I've been so absent the last three days. That Kimmler report at the symposium just about killed me. Can I come in for a minute?"
I set down my tablet. "Sure."
She strolled over and perched on my bed. "Melanie mentioned you had an interesting day."
"You could say that."
She gazed at me with her dark blue eyes. Melanie, who read too many romance novels, described my Mom's eyes as "cerulean" (since romance writers, apparently, never simply wrote "blue" or "brown"). She had short dark
glossy hair. She could've been a double for that beautiful actress who played the lead in The Lizard Queen TV series. Most people found it hard to believe she was a scientist – a "biotechnologist" at a leading "evil corporation," CellEvolve, no less.
"I guess I'm having my first 'special time,' as the cliché goes," I said. "It's no big deal."
"Oh, it is a big deal." She leaned in and ruffled my hair. "It's part of becoming a man." She grunted out a laugh. "God, did I just say that horrific cliché?"
"I guess someone had to."
She mussed my hair again, this time her smooth, warm hand lingering on my face. "My baby boy," she said.
"I think you may have just exceeded your cliché endearment quota."
She laughed. "So how did it go today at school?"
"Some people who normally wouldn't know I existed noticed me."
"That's normal. Enjoy your fifteen minutes of fame." Her smile dipped. "I'm sorry, Aiden, if I've neglected my parental duties in not having 'the talk.'"
"I read your thesis, if that counts." We shared a smile. "I've checked out a lot of the research and theories, especially your research at CellEvolve, but it was all just abstractions. I didn't think too much about what it would be like to actually experience it."
"What is it like?"
"I don't feel any crazy desires. I feel kind of energized." I shrugged. "I wouldn't have thought about it much if people hadn't started reacting to it the way they have."
"Do you have a sense of when this started?" she asked.
"I think near the end of school last Friday." I shrugged. "I just felt kind of...uh, stimulated? Then I spent the weekend mostly in my room, so..."
My mom nodded. "Well, this should be your last day then."
I smiled, feeling a small twinge of sadness. "I'm sorta going to miss girls looking at me that way."
"Don't worry, you'll get a repeat every three or so months, though perhaps not as intense. Besides, what girl in her right mind wouldn't see how cute and adorable you are without hormonal special effects?"
She ruffled my hair yet again and leaned into kiss me on the cheek.
"Sweet dreams," she said.
Chapter 2
I DIDN'T KNOW HOW much desire could hurt.
Of course, I'd felt longing before – wishing the pretty girl across the science lab would look at me, dreaming about a new computer – but this was nothing like that. This desire was a huge, raging beast roaring out flames. This was a monster demanding the sacrifice of fair maidens. Fair, creamy-fleshed, curvy, round-bottomed maidens...
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