Mankind is special. That much has been decided by themselves. It has been proven by thousands of years of history and survival of the fittest. While the intelligence and ingenuity of mankind has set him above all the other organisms on the Earth, there has always lingered, on the edge of mainstream science, evidence of other, more obscure abilities.
What these abilities are has never been thoroughly documented or discovered. Throughout history, mentioned in recorded works throughout history, there has always been hints of such abilities. But where they came from and exactly what they were never said exactly. Can these abilities can be learned, like a skill, discovered by chance and, through practice and experimentation, used?
Or perhaps they have always been present in the human mind, and are simply turned on. But by who? Why? And for what purpose?
Chapter One
Proud Victories, Darker Signals
Flying through the air, everything a blur. Relying only on years of practice and instinct to land. What seems so slow in coming is finally here, the moment upon her. She feels the hard surface of the horse beneath her small, strong hands. It is a tool, not an obstacle. A tool to be used and taken advantage of. That's what is was put there for, right?
Dewiness is not a problem. It was when she first started out. But back then there was always the soft paddings to help you out if you got dizzy and screwed up. Here that is not that luxury. It's not a problem either. Go through the plan, make it look easy, like a bird, caressing the winds and momentum to your will.
Faces fly by, and in what seems like an eternity she is able to study each one. See the hope for her in some, the anguished concern for defeat in others. She feeds off the hope, fends off the defeat. Michelle Nicole Brikton didn't come this far to fall now.
Thump! The mat that had been impossible to land on when she was a little girl becomes glue now. Stick to it like a fly, Coach said, like as if you were landing in tar. The landing is the most important part. Plant the feet, don't wobble. Muscles locked ensure what the Coach always told her, tendons strengthened over years of practice guarantee a solid landing. No room for error now.
Time slowly resumes its normal passage; reality comes up to speed in the mind. Listen intently for the cheer, glorify in the victory once it comes. Show a little of the excitement in the final pose, watch as the crowd explodes. Hearing isn't possible, the scream of the crowd drowns out every sound. Sight is adequate, though. It is enough to see the excitement that is hardly contained by her coach. Satisfying to see the looks of defeat on the faces of those who would have her lose.
Michelle smiled as she ran up and embraced her coach. She couldn't tell what he was yelling but she could make out pride and wonder in what he said. Michelle beamed as she realized she had exceeded her coach's expectations.
She walked back to the team and they embraced her as they laughed and congratulated their team captain. That final vault was the best one I've ever done. The point totals will be close. I wonder if I scored high enough to be All-Around Champion.
That thought made her remember all the times she had looked in frustration as another girl took the top pedestal. All those feelings of pride and accomplishment were Michelle's now, and she knew why the others had cried when they won. The emotion must have been too much too bear, for them. But she could stand up there tearless, facing the whole world. For Michelle that was not much of a task.
Minutes flew by and then she bent down to receive her gold medal, felt comfort in the weight of it around her neck. It seemed to make her aspirations material. They didn't linger around her anymore, betrayed by her expectations and previous showings. And although her showing at all the National Gymnastic Meets had improved this year, Michelle had still been disappointed in the outcomes.
Still, Michelle had gone from just another promising talent to a medal contender every event in a little under a year. Her coach couldn't believe it. She, on the other hand, could and had no problem relaxing in the spotlight that focused on her as she displayed her medal. She nodded and smiled to her team as they looked back at their leader. They've got to know what this is like. I'm not going to be the only one who wins an all-around metal this year. Not if I can help it. I'm their team captain, and I've got to lead the team to their own medals.
Michelle basked in the glory for a second longer, then stepped down off the pedestal as the competition officially ended and the people started to disperse. It had been a long challenging day, and although it was very rewarding for Michelle, she nonetheless was tired. She knew her coach sensed the fatigue she tried to hide.
She could see the pride in his eyes, but there was something else as well. Pity. If it had been anyone else but her coach, Michelle would have been irked at this. But she simply accepted it as concern for her well-being.
"Go on back to the showers, Michelle. God knows you've earned it." Coach said. She smiled softly as he patted her on the back, and although she didn't need it, she was comforted. Michelle skipped happily to the locker room, not out of giddiness, but out of plain contentment.
Despite the fact that Michelle had risen from the ranks of gymnastics nowhere to be ranked nationally with other high schools, her coach still hadn't changed. Michelle had seen other coaches go from friendly to cold and businesslike when their girls managed hit the bigtime. Not Coach. He's been the same old, gray-bearded man that he has always been.
Michelle Nicole Brikton had never been an overly large girl, ever since she was a small child, and that was evident in the mirror as she groomed herself. Her small size was balanced by muscle gained by years of training. Her light blondish brown hair darkened as the water hit it, and the water was a welcome relief to tired and sore muscles. As much as she hated the soreness of post-competition, Michelle had to admit that she liked being in top physical shape.
Her mind reflected a little bit on herself, as it often did when she relaxed. She thought of the whistles and calls that came from boys as she walked into the auditorium. Michelle seemed to find herself more and more standing out in a crowd, and although she had never thought about it much, she assumed it was because of her appearance.
Even though she had just moved to this school three years ago, she had gotten used to the people. She had made friends quickly even if the school was a hundred miles away from the other one. Her coach hadn't seemed concerned with the extra hour and a half he would have to travel in order to continue her training. She knew, as much as she hated to admit it, that in place of her deceased dad, her coach had become her surrogate father. After her father died, she looked for someone to attach onto, quickly. Thanks to her coach's training, she had gotten much, better over the last three years.
But I always hated coming to these meets. She smiled as she thought of how long ago she had started. She thought a little while on how far she had made it since she was a little girl, forced to go to gymnastics lessons before and after school. She used to bang on her Father's legs as they walked to the car. She would beg and plead and do anything not to go. But she wouldn't cry. That was for other girls. Michelle smiled to herself, and Daddy would always make me go. Because he knew that I had a chance to make it big.
The smile faded into a soft feeling of melancholy, followed by the now familiar emptiness that accompanied thought of Michelle's father. I miss you, Daddy. What has it been now, four, four and a half years? I still miss you. I wish you were still here.... Jeez, listen to me. I sound like a Hallmark card. Michelle looked heavenward, the emptiness easing a little. I know you would be proud of me, Daddy. This is for you, for all those practices you made me go to. She raised the medal a little off her neck, as if to show somebody. If you're looking down, I just want to you to know I love you.
She stepped out of the shower, sobered by the cold air and thoughts of her father. As she got dressed, her thoughts turned from the past to the rest of the day. She would keep a level head and not flaunt her victory in front of her teammates. A good leader knew better.
Michelle looked around for her hairbrush, which had disappeared from her bag. Irritated, she got up and stomped back recklessly to the showers. Where is my head today? You get a victory under your belt and your brain heads out the back door--
"Aaah!" Michelle yelled out of surprise as her footing gave way on the wet floor. Her line of vision met the ceiling for a second, then was blurred by a sharp stab of pain. Darkness flittered through her eyes, and she fought back the urge to faint. Slowly her vision cleared, and Michelle became aware of pain. Doubled. She rubbed the back of her head from the migraine she knew she was going to have for the next day or so, for being so stupid and rushing back here...
Michelle tried to get up, and fell as her left angle exploded in pain and gave out beneath her. Wearily, she looked at her left foot. The foot was stuck at an awful angle, swelling already and obviously out of joint. Michelle muttered a small, unladylike curse at the pain and her stupidity.
But, while she felt like a fool, she wasn't concerned. Other girls would have to worry about recovery. This might even hurt someone's career. But... Michelle carefully grabbed onto her injured ankle and gritted her teeth. I'm not a normal athlete. Michelle yelled out in pain as she jerked the foot painfully back into joint. It resumed it's normal position.
Carefully she steadied herself and got up. She took a couple of steps, wincing. But she could walk on it, and after a little while, if she thought about it enough, the pain would go away. That's the one thing that she found peculiar about herself. Well, not really peculiar, Michelle admitted. Probably more of curious that peculiar. I've never een anyone who could pop back in disjointed limbs by and then deaden the pain by thinking about it.
Michelle knew that she wasn't telling the whole truth to herself. It went a little farther than that. She remembered with a slight fancy how she had hit her head on the bar a couple of months after she started. She should have fallen unconscious, off the bar and onto the concrete. She had landed on her feet, on the mat, then collapsed.
No one had seen it but her coach, and he was speechless. Eventually he chalked it up to freak act of luck. Michelle thought about it a long time, but came to a different conclusion. She still remembered the pain, and blurry vision that threatened the routine, but she also remembered just knowing where the floor was. It was like I could feel it, and didn't have any problems landing. I've never had the courage to try yet, but I bet I could land with my eyes closed. Michelle smiled as she thought of the look on Coach's face then.
She looked around to see if anyone had seen her. No one was in the locker room. That was probably best, because Michelle didn't feel like explaining about what had happened, and what she did to fix it. She got up, finished dressing, and slightly limped as she walked out the door. The pain reminded her of the usual procedure when she dislocated something. Think about it and it will go away, Michelle remembered. She walked a little bit, and the pain dulled when she kept it in mind. She went out the door, going to meet her team, who was waiting for her. She knew that not only did she have her talent to back her up as leader of the team, but some other talent as well.
The ball flew cleanly through the net, but then again, all a person had to do was look at who had shot it. Marcus breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the ball hitting the net. That's what I picked Michael for. He's the best one here at basketball.
Marcus called his team over for a time out, stopping the clock with less than 10 seconds left. His team was down by one in the quarter finals of the school's intramural basketball tournament, and they still had a chance to win. When the team reached him, he formed a huddle to tell them the game plan.
He looked over to Michael who, surprisingly, looked pretty good. Michael wasn't sweating half as much as he usually did, but Marcus was still concerned. I don't want to take the chance of him collapsing again. That was too scary the last time.
"Are you feeling all right, Mike?" Marcus asked.
Michael Johannen's brown hair was soaked with sweat, but his face was vibrant, and Marcus could tell he wasn't as weak this time as he had been in other games. Michael returned the look, eyes dancing. Marcus was relieved as he realized his friend would be okay.
"Yeah, I'm feeling pretty good. Don't worry about me. What is the game plan?" Michael reassured.
"Good. Okay, now here's what were going to do..."
Ever since they had met in second grade, Marcus Panteras and Michael Johannen had been inseparable. They spent all of their time together when they were growing up, and the connection still lasted as they entered their senior years of high school. Marcus's own features hadn't changed much over the years. Everybody had always said he always appeared much younger than he was, and he still looked like the same bright, friendly kid he had always been. Michael, however, didn't look like the same person he had been as a child. He had always been smaller, but when adolescence hit, he grew.
That's was an understatement. Marcus thought. Ten inches in two years. Michael had gone from slightly shorter than Marcus to towering above his friend. Along with that growth spurt, his features had changed too. His hair darkened to brownish black, and he grew it long now. Marcus smiled as he remembered the way they had always patterned their hair styles after one another. But Marcus's light brown hair hadn't changed, and neither had its style.
Oh well, I guess that's what time'll do to ya. Attitude's had changed too. Michael's growth spurt had alienated him somewhat from the other boys, causing him to grow quiet as he entered high school. Marcus, on the other hand, had become a gentleman and leader, always concerned for the other person over his own well being.
Good parents and a little maturing, Marcus admitted. Michael's home life hadn't been as good as his friends either. The news that changed his life last year had left his single mother in a state of shock and denial. The symptoms had appeared so quickly, and nothing had appeared wrong with Michael as a child. The doctors had said adolescence had brought on full attack from the disease. The last couple years had not been as easy for Marcus as it had been for Michael. That had raised an overprotectiveness that, while probably appropriate, made Marcus a little too concerned with his friends well being.
Marcus told his team the game plan, and they went out of the huddle, confident. Marcus was the captain of his team, even though he wasn't the best player. Nobody challenged his leadership though, because it had been proven through the entire season that he was the best one for the task.
So now's the time when leader are tested. Let's see if my plan'll win. Marcus looked at his team and marveled how they had stayed in the game for so long. Michael was still on his feet, even having taken only one insulin shot today. I hope he's not trying to be brave. I don't want to be responsible for the death of my best friend just because of a stupid game. I've got a feeling he's not as bad as he usually is.
Play started with a whistle, and Marcus guarded his man, who was throwing the ball in bounds. Marcus waved his arms excitedly, and the player was getting frantic trying to find an open man to throw the ball to. The opposing team was under Marcus's basket and were getting desperate.
Finally, as Marcus had anticipated, the player just lofted the ball inbounds to avoid the five-second penalty. He cut the ball off in it's path way before it reached the intended man, and he caught a glimpse of Michael's eyes look at him as the clock ticked down. I've seen that look before, he had it at the state championship.
Marcus was immediately covered by a defender, and there was no clear passing lane to pass to one of his teammates. Then something clicked.
Oh man. I hope I'm right. Because if I'm not, this loss is on me, Michael.
Marcus lunged and threw the ball up, hopefully getting it somewhere near the basket.The ball's flying too hard to hit the basket...it's going to fly over the goal...
The ball continued in it's path, and a bad feeling crept into Marcus's stomach. The game would be ruined because of him, because of a gut feeling about Michael. Once again he would make a stupid mistake that would cost his team the game. He watched the ball continue in it's horrible path, up and near the basket...
...until it was caught by Michael and slammed hard through the basket, an instant before the buzzard sounded.
Marcus's jaw dropped as he saw what transpired, then he ran to where the rest of the team was: to Michael. He started the dogpile that ended with Michael on the bottom as the team celebrated their last second win in the quarter finals.
After the dogpile had cleared, Marcus helped Michael up, and they walked back together to the locker room.
That was when concern impeded on Marcus's thoughts again.
"Do you feel all right Mike?" Marcus asked, but he knew the answer before Michael spoke it.
"Yeah," Michael said, surprised. "Today is one of my good days."
Marcus was silent for a little while, the reality of his best friend's condition making him somber. When he spoke again he spoke softly, knowing how Michael hated to talk about his disease.
"Did you ever... think what it would be like if you never found out you had diabetes?" he asked.
Michaels was taken aback for a second, then his features turned unreadable and cold. Michael would have normally replied back in sharp tones, but it was his best friend who had asked the question, so he answered, shrugging, remorseful.
"No."
Marcus was surprised at such a short answer.
"You don't ever think about it?" He tried to keep the disbelief out of his voice, but he did a poor job, and Michael shared the same insight into his friend as Marcus did with him. His answer was defensive, curt.
"I try not too. Until I'm reminded by somebody."
The answer stung on Marcus's ears. His tone was apologetic.
"Hey," He turned, quickly. "I didn't mean anything by what I said. I'm sorry, Mike."
The apology quickly relieved the tenseness of the situation, and the tightness in Michael's shoulders eased. Michael said nothing, but Marcus could tell by the expression on his friend's face that he had already been forgiven.
They walked down the hall, and then Marcus's mood brightened. When he spoke he spoke quietly, so no one else could hear.
"How did you know what I was going to do back there...in the game?"
Michael's eyes flashed with the same look as before, and he returned the smile. "I knew just as well as you did what was going to happen... you threw the ball... that's when it clicked." The smile across his lips was one of mysterious recollection.
Marcus smiled back, and looked at his best friend who, despite the seriousness of his condition, had somehow made the entire game. "It happened again," he reminded Michael.
Michael's smile grew, and his eyes told of a hidden secret.
"I already knew you were going to say that."
The door opened, and the shadow that spread across the tattered and dirty bed brought an overpowering need to hide. He watched as the small boy ran from under the covers to hide in the shadows where the light didn't reach.
The voice was smooth and tinged with a tone that promised something unspoken and dark.
"Oh, come now little Kerry. Do you think that you can hide from me? How many times have we been through this little episode?"
The lights from the hall made the shadow seem larger than usual, if that was possible. The boy curled up behind a cushioned chair, whimpering softly to himself. Images of his family flashed across his mind, but instead of his mother coming to tuck him in, the man appeared. His mother couldn't come and tuck him in.
She was dead. Along with the rest of his family.
The whimpering he involuntarily made must have reached the shadow's ears, for he laughed, a cruel evil thing.
"Look at you! Hiding like a little animal! Has our little game scared you that much? Are you scared of me?" The man's voice was quickly becoming louder and more agitated, each word serving to make the boy's desire to hide stronger.
"Why don't you come on out, Kerry? Quit hiding and come on out!!" He was screaming now, and the words shook the walls of the small dirty room.
The man was quiet for several seconds, apparently waiting for the boy to come out from the dark. When he didn't the man spoke again, in low, guttural tones. It promised something worse than what would have happened.
"Fine then boy. Hide. It won't do you any good. Your family is dead, and no one is coming to get you."
The door squeaked shut; the quiet helping very little to ease the sound of the man's voice in the boy's ears.
Chapter Two
Apparent Trouble, Clandestine Help
Breen walked up to the substitute teacher, trying hard to portray a face of indifference and confusion and succeeding admirably. He had done this enough times to know how to hide his emotions.
First he stopped right beside her, and she looked at him over the rim of thick glasses, the wrinkles on her face framing a question.
"Yes?" she asked, her tone curious.
"Mrs. Aaron, I just wanted to know if you could help me with this problem." Breen smiled as he thumped the thick math book with the small writing down on the cluttered desk.
"Well, Mr. Smith, I don't know, but I'll try..." She stooped over the book in her seat, having to bend very close to the book to see it over the rim of her spectacles.
Bingo, Breen thought to himself. Breen bent down with her, the look on his face apologetic. He put his arm on the back of the substitute teacher in a comforting gesture, feeling sorry, it seemed, that she would have such a hard time reading the book.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I really don't need that much help with it," Breen apologized, picking up the book and walking back to his seat. Mrs. Aaron, obviously disgruntled that she couldn't understand the complicated math, didn't reply when he left.
Breen looked at his friends who were having an equally hard time holding down the snickering that Breen caused. He managed and took his seat, looking over when Chuck, his friend, tapped him on the shoulder.
"Didja do it?" Chuck whispered.
Breen answered with a chuckle of laughter that was luckily covered by the ringing of the bell. Saved by the bell... just like usual. Breen smugly thought to himself.
Immediately laughter exploded from all corners of the room, bewildering Mrs. Aaron and making her wonder what caused the students to laugh. Students got up from their seats, as they left the room they patted Mrs. Aaron on the back where the sign "Pat me if you think I'm sexy" swung from a piece of tape. She looked at everyone of the students, her questioning look slowly replaced by the false assumption that she was welcomed by her students.
Breen walked up to her, smiling that same false smile he had used before.
"Hey, everyone likes you Mrs. Aaron. I hope you can teach our class again, you were a lot of fun," He lied.
Breen walked out of the room as Mrs. Aaron smiled, sighing to himself in pride.
Once again you've done it, Breen. Fooled another teacher who didn't know any better. You're--
"--Terrible, man!" Chuck said as he and Breen's other friends intercepted him around the corner. "Brick, you've got to be one of the cruelest people I've ever met."
Mention of Breen's current nickname made all his friends laugh. He laughed along with them, and he had to agree, his current nickname was a little more creative than some of the one's he had been named before.
"Brickinisdrawers strikes again," another friend said, and Breen wondered if anyone knew his real name.
Breen and his friends continued to walk down the hall talking to one another, not paying attention to where they were going. Conversation and laughing stopped when Breen walked into a wall.
Or rather, a human wall.
Clark, the head weightlifter and self-proclaimed "punk buster", glared down at the smaller and goofy looking Breen.
"Where were you going, Brick?"
Breen winced as a hand like a steel vice clamped down on his shoulder. He realized he wasn't going to run his way out of this one, as much as he would have liked to. He looked up at Clark, assumed a non-chalant smile, and lied with a straight face.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Clark." He smiled and patted the arm that was killing his shoulder. "I was just walking down the hall thinking of what I was going to the next scumbag that I ran into in the hall."
Clark's face was puzzled as his brain tried to decipher the sarcasm Breen had put behind his statement. When he finally did, the clamp on Breen's shoulder strengthened, making his eyes widen as he looked away.
"Making fun of me, Brick? Maybe I'll just make you lay a brick in your drawers again," he laughed.
Memories of the unfortunate incident that occurred in third grade ran through Breen's head. He still didn't know which of his so-called friends had decided to bring that up again, in his junior year of high school. He laughed at Clark idiotically, knowing that it would make him only angrier.
I can't help it. That idiot look on his face makes me have to make fun of him..
"You think that's funny, Clark? Your pretty original for something that happened in the third grade. Come to think of it..." Breen laid the arm he could still move on Clark's shoulder. "Didn't you flunk... oh, it was that really hard class... freshman math... for the third year in a row?!"
Clark's face lost all it's composure, turning red as all the people who had forgotten that particular fact busted out laughing. Breen thought the embarrassment would force him to let go. Instead all he saw was a quick moving strike of Clark's fist, a flash of light, and then hitting the floor.
When he came to a couple of seconds later, Breen tasted the warm saltiness of blood on his tongue. Before he could realize it, something stirred inside him, something that he hadn't felt in several years. Something forgotten. Breen couldn't describe it, no more than he could control it, and that was what brought back the memories.
He looked up into the face of the sixth grader who had taken it upon the liberty to clobber Breen from behind. The sixth grader gasped as he looked at Breen's face. His eyes-normally bright and small- had grown, expanded. The pupils dominated his eyes now, making them seem dark and foreboding. There must have been some kind of message that was portrayed through Breen's eyes, because all of the kids who had gathered to see a fight backed away, fear the overriding look in their eyes. Breen caught his reflection in the mirror, his goofiness evident to everyone even as he walked. But he no sign of recognition showed on his face. The bully knew that Breen couldn't put up much of a fight, he had never been able to and had always been easy to pick on. But still the bully backed away, not bothering even to watch where he was going, tripping, desperate to get away.
Clark scrambled backwards, belittled before the unexplainable message that seemed to seep off of Breen. Breen got up, wiping his nose and he looked at the blood. One step toward Clark. His friends had never seen Breen like this before, and even they backed away. It didn't seem like Breen was thinking or even controlling himself coherently, as a fury stormed in his normally aloof eyes.
The sixth grader took a step back, and Breen, whose blank stare had no spark of consciousness, jerked his neck upward at an unnatural angle. The sixth grader followed the same motion as he left the ground, shot skyward like a leaf in the wind.
The one step toward Clark became another, and as Breen's foot hit the hall floor Clark's head cracked on the concrete floor. The people gasped as he hit, because it looked like Clark had been pushed or thrown down, and no one was touching him. He fell to the floor, catching a look at his attacker who fought him without touching him.
The eyes, alive, independent, followed the bully in his swift path. They didn't even flinch when the older child's voyage ended with a sickening crack of the skull against a tree halfway across the school yard.
The eyes had a life all their own. No trace of Breen was to be seen in the large black globes that dominated the pupils of his eyes. The child fell against the trunk in final swift slump, and the blood that had splattered against the tree trunk decorated the tree in a sadistic shade of red. Nothing had stopped Breen from throwing the bully around like a rag doll...
Then suddenly the bell, as it had saved Breen in class before, saved his victim now. The incessant ringing began, and as it went on, the pain that incapacitated Clark eased. The black globes resumed their normal size, and the look on Breen's face changed from indifference to shock and bewilderment.
His classmates who had not seen what had happened raced over, asking what had happened and screaming when they saw the sixth grader. He was slumped over, inactive. The large globes in Breen's eyes departed and he looked around, like a person led blindfolded trying to decipher where they had gone. The screams and questions continued.
Breen looked around, knowing without having to think that it happened again. He watched as Clark gathered himself with some effort and escaped, frantic, down the hall. Breen didn't care what Clark would do no more than he cared about the looks his friends gave him as he fled down the hall. As soon as he was around the corner, he bolted outside to the parking lot, raced to his car and left the school.
The trip in the car was a blur, Breen focused more on his destination now than how he got there. He pulled up to the park, making his way to the large hill that he had always spent time at to think before.
He raced up the hill, running to reach the top as quickly as he could, fueled by frantic thoughts of panic. And as uncoordinated as Breen was, he still covered the steep path quickly. When he reached the top the cold wind of the winter day blasted him, numbed his mind, calmed him down. Breen took a seat on the dead grass and pulled his jacket tight around him, waiting until he caught his breath before he tried to rationalize what had happened.
His breathing calmed, slowly, and he looked out over the horizon. The view was magnificent, and served to focus his thoughts.
Okay, so it happened again.
Breen laughed at the obviousness of that statement.
It had been so long since the last time. What was it, eight, ten years? Fourth grade. That big sixth grader pushed me down, I couldn't control what I did to him...
Breen shook involuntarily. He hated thinking about this, it had been so long since he had to.
And then I went wacko, just like today. The bell rang. That's the only thing that saved Clark...
Images of the splintered wood spattered with blood sprang into his mind. The force of the impact had put the sixth grader in a coma.
I told the teachers I pushed him into that tree. No fourth grader could push anyone that hard.
The bell rang. That's the only thing that saved him...
Nobody could believe I could hurt a bigger kid that bad. He was a bully to everybody, but still no one could believe I did it. I was nothing but I runt. I wasn't strong enough.
The bell...
Realization slowly dawned into his brain. His normally joking attitude turned somber, hopeless. Breen found his head in his hands.
Oh God, what is going on?
The sun rose over the horizon, but it was not visible in the dark room. Come to think of it, the boy hadn't seen daylight in over two weeks.
Ever since he had been locked in this room.
There were no windows, the room was a mess, and there was no circulation to let fresh air in. The room stunk of wastes, and the boy was dirty, filthy. It had been two days and two pieces of bread and a little pan of water since the man had come. The boy was hungry, as usual, and his legs were cramped from very little exercise, but his mood was good.
Because of one reason and one reason only: escape.
He had worked loose the sealed vent that led out of the room. It had taken several days and a few sore and bloody fingers to get the thing loose, but he had done it. He still hid when the man came, more out of concern for his plan than fear now. The man would simply come to the door, wait for the boy to come out, and when the boy didn't show up he would yell and scream and leave. The boy would escape, and there would be no man to stop him.
Where he would go didn't matter. He had no one to turn to, all his family was dead. He could go anywhere. Probably to the United States. If he could sneak in; his uncle had done it.
Yes then. The United States was where he would go.
Chapter Three
Happenchance meetings, Initial danger
Maybe it was the over-stuffiness, but regardless, Michelle was glad to be out of the arena. The coach and the rest of the team had decided to celebrate Michelle's success, although she just hadn't thought it necessary. Michelle looked at her foot, now in the dress shoes she had put on before the team left the arena. Michelle moved it around a little bit, no pain. It had taken only a couple of minutes before the swelling and pain in her foot had gone away, although it still ached when she didn't think about it.
Michelle had to get away from the competition of the arena very badly. She had been training intensely, and it seemed like she hadn't even seen the sun in a couple of weeks. She lowered the window of the team bus, relishing in the breeze as it blew across her face. The cold, fresh air was a welcome relief.
"Better lower that window, or else you'll catch cold."
Michelle turned around and looked at the bearded man, her voice the slightest bit cynical.
"I don't have to worry about catching cold. I've still got an immune system left, I'm not a geezer yet... unlike someone I know..." She turned away and let her voice trail as she finished the sentence. She knew that it would surprise Coach, and that's why she did it.
The old man's eyes lit up, as he sensed a challenge now. "Oh? Since when have I been old? I can still remember when I used to teach a small little girl who could care less about coming to practice, and now she's holding a medal and isn't the least bit appreciative."
Michelle's eyelids lowered, and she turned back toward the window, her pride offended.
Coach sobered, and put a hand on Michelle's shoulder.
"Michelle, c'mon. You won that medal and made it look ea- Hey!" He flinched as Michelle pulled a pillow that had been intended for rest out of her bag and clobbered Coach with it. He fled from the terrible onslaught of the laughing Michelle, and pretty soon the entire bus was caught in the middle of a pillow fight that threatened to coat it in feathers.
Finally, as the bus driver's yelling reestablished order before a disaster happened, Coach took a seat beside Michelle, still breathing hard from the battle. He smiled at Michelle and hit her softly on the knee.
"You did good today, kid. I was beginning to wonder when you were going to take first place."
Michelle's spirit had lifted considerably from the locker room, and the encouragement from Coach reinforced her good mood. It seemed the only reason she stayed in training, other than her own desire to succeed, was to please Coach and that she had succeeded in.
"Well, I knew that when I pinned that final vault I made it." Michelle said.
"Yeah, that last one was perfect. You finally learned the routine, didn't you?"
Michelle nodded, then her eyes averted somewhere else. "But you were the one who designed it," she looked back at Coach. "Now leave me alone, and don't wake me up until we get to the restaurant, alright?"
Coach patted her on the same knee and left, leaving Michelle room to lay down and relax. Her small size made it easy to use the seats as beds, and soon she was relaxed by the steady rythms of the bus.
Later, as she found herself left alone, her mind reflected on what Coach had said, about how she had finally learned the routine.
I've been trying to nail that somersault routine for months now, and I've always screwed up on the landing. Then I thought I was almost sure I was going to mess up, and something... I don't know... clicked? I landed and the routine seemed easy. I should know, it had never been that easy before...
Michelle shrugged, content to let the mystery let itself discover itself on its own. Right now, as the bus finally stopped, her stomach reminded her of her most pressing need: food.
The team shuttled off the bus, walking into the parking lot of the restaurant. The place was fancy, that much Michelle could tell by the elegant tables and dressed faculty. Michelle was a little skeptical if they fit in this capricious environment. But Coach had decided to take them out as celebration, and this was where they had picked to go. The team walked in, the chatter hushed by Coach as he sensed disconcerting eyes upon them. Michelle walked in near near last, and Coach found a table that seated about 10, and the team quietly began settling in.
Michelle took a good look at the restaurant as she walked to the table. She silently held back a breath of wonder. Everywhere were rich people with exquisite clothing on, and the light that reflected off their jewelry dazzled her. She was glad the team had decided to dress up for the gymnastics event before the competition, otherwise they might not have gotten into the restaurant at all. She sarcastically returned a smile that a well off elderly woman gave her, and curtsied in mock salute to their money. Michelle laughed to herself as the lady looked away with a resounding "humph!"
Most of the team had found their seats, still looking around in wonder as the classiness of the restaurant sunk in. Michelle found herself a seat next to Coach, and elbowed him in the ribs as the waiter came and took their orders.
"Next time, Pizza Hut would be nice!" She whispered.
"Hey, you're the one who mentioned this place!" Coach replied.
"Yeah, but I wasn't serious. The girls just decided to jump on the idea after I mentioned it. I didn't have much say in the matter," Michelle said.
"Well, your the team captain, and you should have had the final say in the matter..." Coach reminded.
Michelle smiled as she got up to go to the restroom. "Yeah, but I'm not the one who has to foot the bill..." She held back a laugh as Coach groaned and opened up his wallet.
Coach is one a kind. I don't think I've met another coach who would have taken his team out to a dinner for one person's victory.
The restroom was across the restaurant, and Michelle was aggravated at the looks that she ignored as she walked past people's tables. But the bathroom is just around a corner, barring no one will stop me for disturbing the peace. Michelle turned her head to see how Coach was doing with the team--
"Oof!" Michelle exclaimed, as she ran into someone. "Oh my gosh! I'm sorry..." Michelle was exasperated, she hadn't been watching where she was going, and now she had ran ito some elderly rich person who was going to throw her out of the restaurant.
She turned around, ready to apologize to the unfortunate person, and found that it wasn't an old lady at all. A girl who looked about her age, possibly a few years younger, was studying her with intent and shocked eyes. Michelle was relieved to find it wasn't an old lady.
"Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't watch where I was going, I apologize." Michelle said.
The girl cocked her head in misunderstanding. She took a step back from Michelle.
Michelle was puzzled. She looked at the girl, and she looked like she belong here. She had on a very nice dress adorned with flowers, and her blonde hair had been done up very nicely to suit the restaurant. For all intents and purposes, she could work at the restaurant. Still, she didn't act very dignified, and she didn't appear like she knew where she was going. A questioning looked framed her face, so Michelle repeated the apology.
"Miss, I'm sorry I ran into you--"
Still the girl didn't reply, and Michelle began to wonder what she was doing here. Then the girl, obviously confused, bolted back the way she had came and disappeared into the bathroom.
Michelle's eyebrows raised. Why was she so scared?
Although her curiosity was piqued, Michelle wasn't about to get involved with the situation, so she continued down to the restroom. The girl had ran in there, but Michelle hoped that nothing would happen and a scene wouldn't occur. She opened the restroom door, dazzled by the luxuriness of it but not surprised. She went to the marbel sink and began to freshen up when the girl peeked out from behind a stall door. Michelle saw her in the reflection of the mirror, but made no attempt to signal the girl that she had seen her. Instead she just observed her out of the corner of her eye, and tried to discern her dilemma.
Seconds went by, and Michelle thought the girl was hiding from something, or somebody. She would peak out behind the golden stall door, look around like she was watching for something and then look at Michelle. Michelle continued to go about her business, although now she was determined to figure out why the girl was acting like she was. When Michelle made the slightest movement to turn off the sink and the girl's eyes caught the movement. As seconds went by, Michelle watched as the girl would follow even the slightest movement Michelle made.
Michelle thought for a moment, then decided to experiment a little. Casually she shifted her position so that her body blocked the girl's view of the faucet. Slowly, as the girl looked away at something else, she turned the faucet handle. The girl's eyes did not follow the movement, and as Michelle finished turning the faucet on, the water came out with a loud whine.
That figures. A fancy restaurant and bad plumbing. Michelle winced as the water continued to flow rather loudly out of the faucet, then dubiously looked at the girl's reflection in the mirror. Her head was still looking for something else, as if she hadn't even given a thought at the loud noise of the faucet. A realization slowly came into focus in Michelle's mind, and she decided to try one last "experiment" to test her theory.
She made sure the girl was looking away, and then belched and cleared her throat very loudly, and unlady-like. But... the girl's eyes continued to search the room, and hadn't even flashed back to Michelle when she had practically shook the walls.
Michelle smiled, pleased as she solved the mystery about the girl. But the smiled faded as she realized she couldn't communicate with her. I don't know sign language. But I think somebody on the team does. Still, jeez, why is she so scared? What's she scared of?
Michelle walked out of the girl's bathroom, going back to the table in a rush to find out which of her teammates might have taken sign language. Coach looked puzzled as she asked, and Michelle put her hands on her hips in frustration as teammate after teammate didn't know sign language. As she debated checking on the girl or sitting down, Coach tapped her on the shoulder.
"What's the problem?" He asked, puzzled.
Michelle impatiently explained. "There's a girl in the bathroom who is scared witless of something, but I can't figure out what it is because she's deaf."
"How do you know?"
Michelle was in a hurry to get back to the girl, and instead of explaining every little detail to Coach, she started off toward the bathrooms again. Coach caught her, her concern making his mood serious, and he answered her previous question.
"I know sign language. But only halfway."
"Let's go then." Michelle turned and started off toward the girl.
Michelle knew she was walking quickly, and she would have laughed as she heard Coach explain between panting.
"I haven't used sign language in a long time, Michelle."
"When was the last time you used it?"
"I had a student when you first started training who was deaf, but I stopped teaching her shortly after."
Michelle entered the women's restroom door, not seeing Coach stop for a second, grumble and look around before walking in.
Michelle and Coach stopped as they walked in. There were two adults in the room now, one of whom was a man. Michelle figured that would ease Coach's embarrassment, and she studied the two people. They were both wealthy, and they had surrounded the stall the girl was in. The woman had been talking to the girl, but stopped as the squeaking of the door announced Michelle's arrival. They turned and looked, surprised at another man, Coach, walking in.
Michelle caught a glimpse of the girl, growing alarmed as she saw the fear more than ever obvious in the girl's face. She had backed up against the back of the stall, and was shaking her head as the woman made obscure movements with her hands.
Michelle stopped and watched the adults try to communicate with the girl. She continued to ignore whatever the woman was trying to tell her, and after a couple more seconds simply shut her eyes and sat on the stool, crying.
"Is that sign language she's using?" Michelle whispered.
"Yes," Coach replied, his tone serious. "They've been trying to ask the girl what happened, but she hasn't been responsive."
Michelle walked over to the stall slowly, and the man turned and looked at her rather sharply. Michelle could see that neither one of the adults looked anything like the girl. Both of them had dark, auburn hair, and were probably, by Michelle's observation, in their mid or late twenties. Unless they had the girl when they were still in grade school, there was no way they were her parents.
"What's the matter with her?" Michelle asked the man.
"I don't know," he admitted, his shoulders raising. "She won't tell us anything."
"What's her name?" Coach asked.
The man was silent for a couple of seconds, then must have decided that it wouldn't hurt anything for them to know.
"Adrianna."
The woman, who was obviously frustrated with the situation, turned around and let go on Michelle.
"Who are you? What do you want with Adrianna? Why do you care what's going on with her?" She was very upset and frustrated, and fought off the man's arm when he came to comfort her. Her eyes searched Michelle's face, who, dumbfounded by the attack, could only tell the truth.
"Ma'am, my name is Michelle. This man is my gymnastics coach, David Kayrole. I saw your.."-Michelle could think of nothing better- "daughter... run into this bathroom after I collided into her. She was really scared of something, so I followed her and came back to find out what was wrong with her."
The woman explained, it seemed to Michelle, more out of complaining than replying. "Adrianna darted from the table with no notice, just ran down the hall and around the corner. I don't know what's gotten into her." She turned to look at the girl, who, Michelle saw, had stopped panicking and had started watching the conversation. The woman saw this, breathed in relief, and held out a hand to the girl. Michelle was sure that she would take it, but instead, she curled back into the stall, shaking her head, her face pale.
Coach had listened intently and now asked his own questions. "What happened to make the girl so scared? "
The man shook his head, providing what he thought was relevant. "I don't really know. She signed something to me about a man outside, but when I looked out of the window, there wasn't anyone noticable to me. I asked her who she was talking about, but she didn't answer and just freaked, jumped up from the table and darted off, scared to all get out."
Coach was sick of the anonymity of these two people. "What are your names?"
"I'm Charles Foster, and this is my wife, Delana. Adrianna is our adopted child."
"How long have you had her?" Coach asked.
"About eight months. We just got her in April. She's never done anything like this before. " Delana explained.
As Coach continued to ask about the circumstances, Michelle caught a glimpse of the girl's eyes on her. Michelle slowly walked over to the stall. As she did so, both Charles and Delana stopped and watched.
As Michelle reached the entrance, she crouched to the girl's heighth. Immediately, the girl stopped fretting and locked gazes with Michelle. Michelle spoke softly, slowly. Even if the girl can't hear, it'll still serve to calm everyone else's nerves.
Michelle noticed as she studied the girl that Adrianna probably wasn't much older than twelve or thirteen. Her face still held a young child's features.
"Adrianna, my name is Michelle. How are you doing?"
Michelle discovered the girl couldn't read lips, because no hint of communication could be seen in her eyes. Still, the girl was still and intent on Michelle.
It's almost like she's reading my face.
Michelle motioned with a waving hand for Coach to come over. Slowly he walked over to crouch down beside Michelle.
"Could you sign our names to her?" Michelle asked.
Michelle watched as Coach thought for a second, then went about motioning with his hands. Michelle had seen names signed before, and could pick out Coach signing both their names. The girl looked at them both for a second, then signed back her name and smiled.
Michelle laughed, relieved that the girl was no longer fretting. "Coach, ask her what she was so scared of."
Michelle watched as Coach slowly signed, and then watched as Coach continued signing even after Michelle thought he had already asked her question.
"What did you tell her?" Michelle asked.
"At first I asked your question, then I made sure to tell her that we weren't her to hurt her and that we would help her--"
Coach's answer was interrupted as the girl frantically started signing faster than Michelle would have thought possible. Michelle watched as Coach tried to pick up what the girl was saying.
"--I can't understand what your saying, Adrianna slow down!"
But the girl continued signing quickly, and her face told Michelle that she was telling them what had scared her so bad. Michelle shook her head and tried to get her to slow down, but the girl continued to sign faster and faster. Michelle desperately tried to understand her, but she only conveyed confusion to the girl. After seeing that nobody understood, the girl once more burst into tears, thrashing wildly about with her hands trying desperately to tell them what she had been so afraid of.
"Why is she making such a comotion? What did you say to her?!!!" Delana screamed.
Michelle grabbed the girl's hands, forcing them still with her own strength. The girl stopped, shocked, and halted everything at once, looking at Michelle with desperation in her eyes. The girl latched onto Michelle's arms in return, and locked gazes with Michelle.
Immediately Michelle was overcome with a feeling of desperation and fear. Bewilderment at why she was feeling these emotions was quickly overcome by the feeling of pain that burst onto her senses and riddled throughout her body. She cried out, but knew that no one would hear her, because she wasn't crying out loud. She was crying out in her mind, trying anxiously to fight off the pain and desperation that flooded her consciousness. Darkness flitted through her eyelids, and she knew she was going to pass out.
Then the pain stopped. Michelle stopped crying out and looked around, her head clear now. She was no longer in the restroom of the restaurant. A park met her vision now, splendid in the freshness of a spring day.
"Where am I?--" Michelle said, then stopped. Something wasn't right. "I didn't think I said anything..." She couldn't feel her mouth moving. She knew whe wasn't talking.
"That's because you didn't. The words you hear are... your thoughts."
Michelle jumped as words sounded in the air behind her. She turned around and recognized Adrianna, who was laying in the grass and facing her. She had a smile of welcome on her face, the kind a grandmother had when a child comes to visit.
"Where am I?" Michelle asked. Whether or not she thought or said it she didn't know.
The girl stood up, and Michelle noticed that she had changed outfits, and was now in a loose red shirt and a long skirt. She was barefoot, and her steps made no sound as she walked across the grass.
She put her hand on Michelle's shoulder, and Michelle noticed how at peace the girl was now. It was like all trace of panic had just disappeared and she looked much older than the thirteen years Michelle guessed she was.
"I'm sorry about the pain that accompanied you, but that is the first time I have ever brought anyone to me in a long time." The girl smiled and Michelle breathed a little easier. The girl's voice was now very soft and almost had a melody to it.
"But where am I?" Michelle asked again. She looked around at her surroundings, then back at Adrianna.
"The only place I could talk to you, because your the one of the only ones I was ever able to do this with as far as I know. Michelle, you're in my mind."
