She was in her bay stroller,which was facing the mirrored back of the elevator, the visor was up and she could see her clothes on her invincible body reflected there.
They were going back "home". The porter's trolley laden with the accumulated detritis collected over a month of hotel living,most of the clothes she had out grown would go to charity as always, and few things will be kept,never to be worn again. Christine didn't know why the mother kept them .
She looked down at the chubby little toddler hands laying demurely on her lap and wondered about herself.
She was quite certain that she was in the same world that she had always been born into,further along in time than when she had died in the 21st century.
In that world, demons had become mythical beings as more and more people moved away from religious thought.
Something had clearly changed. People were willing believe her to be a demon,but they didn't seem to be in a hurry to burn her at the stake or exorcise her.
She hadn't seen a television or heard a radio since her birth,but she had seen adults stare into the air immediately before them and look at something.
No holograms or anything,just straight download into the human brain?
No one wore watches, but time sensitive appointments like doctors appointments were kept, and the mother was always prepared for the exact weather they would have.
She had so many questions and had been unable to ask.
In the past couple of weeks,Christine had practiced speaking. Not out loud,merely shaping the words,adjusting the syllables silently in her mouth. There seemed to be a great resistance from her tongue and teeth,as though an invisible force was manipulating her speech organs to mangle any word she could try to form.
She persisted I her practice until she felt she was confident that if she released her voice as she shaped the words she would be coherent and could make herself understood.
She had not tried.
She was afraid something deeper than the continued punishment was going on with her life.
For example, the way strangers would coo over her, and when she didn't respond the mother would explain that she was non verbal,they would walk away quickly. The way those who knew her and her true age never tried to pet her or hug her,which is the age old response to pretty babies.
Christine knew she was pretty. Not only because her mother told her so but because it's the first thing strangers remarked upon,and also,the mother was gorgeous and the father was beautiful,how could she be anything less.
From what she heard from the mother's friends she looked like her father accept for her skin,which was the same honey brown as the mother's.
Pretty as she believed herself to be,she couldn't understand why people became avoidant of her when finding out she was non verbal.
Her mother could've fallen on the excuse of her real age since birth(11 months) to explain why she couldn't talk but then she would have to explain everything else.
They had exited the elevator and she had been strapped into the vehicle. Funny how futuristic the time she was living in compared to her last life and the were still no flying cars.
It was a taxi service, but the car was self driving so it was Christine and the mother in it,going home.
She sighed and tried to think of other things,like how the only time she saw othe children was when she was still going to the hospital. She hadn't paid much attention to them or anything much those days as she had still been adjusting to the demands of her newly integrated existence.
The mother's friends had children she was sure,she had heard talk of them,been compared to them and when visiting one house had slept in a nursery not her own.
In the hotels she would sometimes see someone pushing a stroller or holding something swatted in blankets. Sometimes she heard children but never saw them upclose.
She thought the mother deliberately kept her from other children.
All too soon the car stopped.
They had arrived outside a familiar white house,it was winter now,so the lawn was a dry brittle brown,a bit overgrown and all the bushed and trees were naked branches and twigs. The evergreen trees lining the street were a welcome warmth in the grayish midmorning light.
The door opened and the man that stood in the door way was that perfect androgynous angry man she knew to be her father.
He didn't help the mother in unloading the taxi,or carry the bags in. This is the longest time they had spent away from him,they might as well as have never left from his reaction.
As she was moved closer to him in the stroller he moved back into the house,lovely face impassive, eyes blank and staring. He looked like some creepy doll.
Christine shuddered and looked away from him. His eyes had always been full of fire, a rank and malevolent blaze.
Inside the house there were other people, beautiful people, she could tell they were related to the father because the all had the same slender frame and height,some had his eyes.
They all seemed to be in their twenties like the parents and everyone...everyone.
She hadn't seen any old people since she has been able to see clearly in this life. Not at the hospital,not in the parks they walked in,not in the houses they visited,not in the hotels they stayed in.
The most mature looking person she had seen looked to be in the mid thirties.
The door closed with a soft click.
Christine shivered.