Bobbie marvelled at the energy of her children. It was nearing eleven local time and yet as they sat on the “bridge” as Olivier had called it watching him pilot the ship to his island, the number of questions they had in the dark night made her mind want to melt. She was convinced they weren’t human but little robots running on the energy of the life-source they sapped from their parents.
She was exhausted. Three hours on the plane with the kid with incessant questions, Max had nearly driven the captains nuts, the flight attendant insane and Bobbie had drunk two more glasses of bourbon and left sober Olivier to deal with him once his questions had turned to whether aliens like in the Marvel movies were going to make the airplane crash. Now it was Ollie’s turn, demanding to know what every
