Prologue

A siren squealed through the neighborhood, stirring Kale Morrison from his peaceful slumber for a moment. He listened, his ears long since having become accustomed to the noise in the busy city. Fire alarm. He rolled over and pulled his pillow over his ears, knowing it wouldn't work but too lazy to get up and check to see where the fire was. Well, not exactly lazy, he reasoned. He had to get up early tomorrow. One of the city's best lawyers, he was always ambushed by countless people wanting him to defend them or someone they knew. He had a lot of cases going on and he knew he would win them all – if he got enough sleep.

Another siren rolled by, alerting him that the ambulance was on the way. He glanced at the clock, which was flashing big, red, electronic numbers at him: 4:39. Kale swung his legs over the side of the bed, running his palms over his face. He would have to get up in half an hour anyway if he intended to get to work on time, he reasoned, but he knew that he probably wouldn't leave until 5:30 at least. Ah, well. Missing a little sleep wouldn't hurt anyone.

Kale stumbled across his carpeted floor to where the light switch was and flipped it on, pleased to find that his room was in perfect order. Of course, it always was, so that was really no surprise. Kale's organization skills were something he prided himself on; he could hardly stand messes. Some people called him a neat freak, but he himself thought of it the way his mother had taught it to him: “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”

Having had this pounded into his head from the time he was very small, Kale had learned to pick up after himself, to make sure his clothes were properly folded and put away, and to be sure that nothing was on the floor at any time. Their house was always in tiptop order and a friend had commented once that they could drink out of the toilet if need be. But that was the way Mother was and thus, it was the way Kale was. Mother always said that the reason she couldn't stand Kale's Father, who Kale had never met, was because he was so messy.

Of course, now Kale knew about his Dad, who had left them. And perhaps, he had once admitted to himself, Mother's cleaning had driven Dad away. It was certainly easier to think that then to think it had been he who had made his Dad leave, though he had thought that as well. It was easier to think it was someone's fault then to think that Dad had left just because he wanted to. What kind of a father left for no reason at all? Surely someone had driven him to it.

Kale shook the thoughts from his mind and picked up his bathrobe, which he had deposited on the back of the metal chair he sat in when he was working at his desk. It was red and well worn. He quickly slipped it on and walked out of his room, leaving the light on to provide a way for him to see.

His apartment consisted of two bedrooms – one for him, and one for the guest that never visited him – a living room, a kitchen, two bathrooms, and a basement. The basement was there for one reason alone; tornadoes. No one expected him to do what he had done with the basement, he knew that. He'd made it into a place where he could work to his heart's content; his office, he called it. There was a computer, a desk, a telephone, and various other things in his office, where he spent most of his time... when he was home, that was. And Kale could easily admit that he wasn't home very much. His work was his life, after all.

Coming to stop in the living room, he glanced out the single window that overlooked the road as he tied the robe tightly with the belt. The sirens had faded into the distance and, as he glanced out the window, he could faintly see the red glow of the fire. Must be closer then most of them are. Ah, I'll find out when I get to work, no doubt. Norma'll have the whole story.

His secretary, Norma Jean Clover, was an elderly lady, already in her seventies. She had yet to consider retirement and Kale could understand that. Norma had lost her husband of fifty years two and a half years ago and it had left her feeling very depressed. She, like him, had thrown herself into her work and couldn't be drawn out of it for months. Finally, when her son Jeff returned home, bringing with him three children and a wife, she had allowed herself to be pulled out of her work, if only slightly. He lived next door to her and she often took weekends off to spend time with his rowdy boys. Kale had no complaints; Norma worked tirelessly the hours that she did work and she always got her work done.

But children... what a foolish thing to waste time off on. Kale thought as he turned away from the window. He had never liked kids. He'd never been married and he didn't have any siblings. Whenever kids came around him, he shied away from them, trying to avoid them. Norma didn't understand his obvious dislike of what she called “little pieces of Heaven”, but Mother had always understood. “You were the only child I ever liked.” She had told him once, her arms folded over her chest. “And even you I didn't like all the time.”

Kale walked into his bathroom and looked in the mirror, pleased with what he saw there. He was always pleased with himself. He had dark brown curls, a smooth, clear complexion, and deep blue eyes. His nose was straight and wasn't pointy or too large; his lips naturally rosy, but not too rosy. His face was somewhat square, he would admit, and his ears stuck out a little bit too much, but other then that, he imagined himself quite handsome, quite handsome indeed.

“Children.” He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “I'm glad I never had any.”

Well, he couldn't very well have any. He thought of himself as handsome, yes, but that hardly met he had time to spend with women. After all, all the women he'd ever known – with the exception of Norma and Mother – were clingy and tear-eyed. Of course, working in the lawyer business, the women felt this might be a way to play on his sympathies... not that it was true.

“You would think,” He commented to himself as he took out his toothbrush. “That by now people would know they can't convince me that easily.”

“No.” Conceded a voice that seemed to come from nowhere. “Not you. You pride yourself on being uncaring, don't you, Kale?”

Kale spun. “Who said that?”

There was no one around. No one at all. He blinked, then turned back to the mirror, picking up the toothpaste and carefully plastering it unto his toothbrush in force, forcing the words out of his mind. But the voice came again.

“Someday you're going to find out that you're human and that's gonna take you down a couple pegs.” The voice continued. “Someday very soon.”

Kale dropped his toothbrush into the sink. The toothpaste fell off, probably leaving a stain, but for once Kale didn't care. He was freaked out. “Who said that?” He asked loudly.

The voice didn't answer and Kale turned back, looking down at the toothpaste in disbelief. He tried to convince himself that it was just his imagination... but his heart was still pounding in his chest and he knew the voice had been real.

But what did that mean?