"Fiona," I repeated slowly. Some parts of it were slurred, but Fiona didn't mind that one bit.
She visibly brightened, and insisted so. "Yes, daddy! I—I am Fiona. You are daddy!"
By this point, this brainless back and forth had gone for several around. At the end of it, I was out of breath, seventy-seven percent sure I DID have something to do with Fiona, and could call out her name as easily as breathing.
In return, every single time from then forth that Fiona insisted that I was her daddy I felt a small, magnetic tugging that gravitated me forwards. The thumping in my chest would hit a little harder, and I always found myself lost in the sudden urge to pick her up and stuff her into my arms again. It was this strange, mysterious force again, that seemed as if a parasite had taken control of my body and it's reactions.
As if to poke fun of me, Fiona blinked her two large and round eyes. I found her dimples expose themselves as she curled herself into a blinding smile. "Daddy, I'll take your silence as a yes!"
Something under my skin began to twitch. A wave of blood—or whatever that rushing heat was—entered up my throat.
"Sure," my ill, lost self said calmly, as the wave entered and left my eyes, leaving behind a mess of dizzy blurriness.
Whilst I tried to recollect myself, I found my brain was now under seige. Fiona stopped her dangling of her two feet over the feet, and had kicked her shoes off and stood tall and proud on the bed. I didn't have time to think or even flinch when launched herself and tumbled into my embrace.
Something about her just being there—snuggling and cozying around my arms felt right, and believe me, I'm not lying when I say I knew this feeling. In many of my stints, I'd pull disguise after disguise working as odd jobs and contractors—plumbers and electricians, you know, the likes? The feeling was the same as when the screwdriver and nails finally fit, or when the circuit finally clicks together.
Pure satisfaction flowed throughout my body. Instead of the prime opportune to strike, my instincts told me this was the prime opportune to relax, and enjoy myself. Thoroughly.
There were sayings everywhere about how blood is thicker than water, I thought to myself. I knew that blood contained iron, a pure metal, and if one were to lose too much blood, they'd lose too much iron. Sluggishness and fatigue would soon follow, the symptoms of iron deficiency. Yeah, anemia, that was the technical term. Could this, and the magnetic zing between the two of us, be the source of the strange, mysterious force that's been sending my body haywire?
That was about the extent of my blood-related expertise, and it didn't sound logical at all. Science was never my strong suit, though I did strangely familiar recalling the biology aspects, more specifically organs, the human anatomy, and their many properties. Even the genius Sicily had trouble teaching me anything, and he juggled concocting poisons to fixing electrical wires with an IQ of 170.
The corner creases on my forehead scrunched up as I realized the extent, or rather, the murky and confusing depth of things regarding Fiona. This, the strange sensations, and the weird energy orbs earlier, were clearly something that science could not explain. Otherwise, Sicily would not have been as frantic and panicky as he was earlier.
Then, just what was it about Fiona? Drugs? Poltergeists? Or was I simply just going crazy?
Behind my back, my hands moved swiftly. I unsheathed my dagger and gently drew a cut on the tip my finger—sure enough, the wound bubbled. Both the cold that trickled down my finger and the tiny almost unnoticeable sting assured me that everything was in fact jolly good in reality. I was not crazy.