Mistakes: 1.3

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Author’s note: So I won’t normally be doing this, but here I think it’s important. This chapter contains a scene you may find very hard to read. I know that I found it hard to write. If you have read this far, then you already know that this story deals with child abuse and molestation. This chapter explores that further and while it is not, to my mind, tasteless or crass, some of you may find reading it a difficult experience.

James:

James exited the school building with a yawn. It had been a tiring day. A good day, to be sure, but a tiring one. He glanced sidelong at Casper walking alongside him. The other boy had come to find him the moment classes ended, picking up their conversation where they’d left off at lunch without missing a beat.

“So, how’re you getting home?” He asked, gesturing to the parking lot. “My parents usually come to pick me up, you?”

“Meh,” Casper shrugged. “I walk home. It’s not too far to my place, and there’s some stuff I like to do on the way home.”

“Oh yeah?” James replied, curious. “What sort of stuff?”

“Fighting crime,” Casper replied, totally straight faced. “Me and this other kid I know. We find evildoers and beat them up and stuff.”

James snorted, shaking his head slightly. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that his new friend might actually be a massive dork.

“Like superheroes?” He asked. “That sounds fun. Do you have an evil league you get to fight? Or maybe one super smart rich guy with way too much free time.”

“Space Nazis,” the freckly boy replied immediately. “They’re like regular Nazis, but they live in spaaaace!” He raised his hands to shoulder level, wiggling his fingers for dramatic emphasis.

“Does living in space make them extra evil?”

“Absolutely,” came the reply. “These ones steal puppies!”

James let out an exaggerated gasp, raising a hand to his mouth in feigned shock.

“Oh no! That’s SUPER evil!”

“That’s not all, though,” Casper continued, his grin growing wider. “Every puppy they steal gets experimented on and added to their secret legion of puppy cyborgs. They’re gonna use them to take over the earth!”

James let out a high pitched little giggle at the sudden, vivid mental image.

“Okay, stop it!” He said, giving the other boy a gentle shove. “I gotta go, my parents are waiting.” He pointed a finger to the parking lot where, sure enough, his mother’s car sat waiting for him. “This was fun, though. See you tomorrow, Casper!”

“Yeah,” came the shouted reply from behind him as he set off towards the car at a jog. “See you tomorrow, James!” He waved behind himself in Casper’s general direction, before reaching the car door and yanking it open with a sharp tug.

“Hi Mom,” He greeted as he climbed inside the car, catching sight of each of his family in turn. “Hi Dad. Hey Bex! I had the best day today!”

The response this proclamation received was not as expected. Sarah gazed at him, eyes transfixed for a few moments, before reaching out and yanking the boy forwards into a tight hug.

“That’s good to hear,” she murmured, her words masked by a slight sniffle. “I was so worried.”

Peter, for his part, gave his son a few brief pats on the head, smiling down at him.

“That’s my boy.” He said quietly.

“Uhh,” Rebecca muttered from her seat, glancing around. “Mom? Dad? Why are you being weird?”

James felt a slight twinge, a momentary regret for making his mother sad. He pushed it aside, prying himself free of his mother’s grip.

“It was really cool!” He continued proudly, determined to reassure his mother that everything was fine. “I got to talk to all my friends and handed in all my homework and then I made friends with another boy called Casper who talks about space Nazis!”

Peter chuckled slightly at his son’s words. Sarah, for her part, nodded along, rubbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket as she listened.

“What’s a space Nazi?” Rebecca asked, prodding her brother in the side.

“It’s like a regular Nazi,” James replied, turning to his sister with a grin. “But it’s a Nazi that lives in space! They have evil puppy robots!”

Rebecca gazed at her brother for a few moments, before crossing her arms and scowling at him.

“I don’t get it,” she muttered. “Your friends are weird.”

James prodded his sister in the side and she yelped, giving him a look of utmost betrayal. He stuck out his tongue at her and she replied in kind.

“Now now,” Sarah chided with a wet little chuckle. “Be nice, kids.”

“So,” Peter asked, his tone casual. “You gonna come back to school again tomorrow?”

James stopped for a moment, glancing first at his father, then briefly at his mother.

“Well…” He said, his voice small. “I mean… I wanna. But, if it makes you sad, I-I guess I can stay ho-“

“No!” Sarah cut him off, shaking her head vehemently. “No, if you’re having fun and it’s making you happy, then that’s all I need to hear! I’ll be fine, sweetie, I promise.”

“… You sure?” James asked, gazing up at his mother uncertainly.

“Yeah,” she replied, giving him a brief nod. “I’ll be fine.” Without looking at her, Peter placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, his fingers tightening to give her a little squeeze.

The three of them gazed between each other for a few moments, James feeling uncertain whether he should be feeling happy or sad right now. The moment broke when Rebecca, apparently deciding she was being ignored, chose to capitalize on James’ lack of attention by launching herself across the seat at his unprotected side, roaring a battle cry and poking him fiercely between the ribs with every chance she got. The boy yelped in surprise and the tiniest amount of pain, before making his counterattack, playfully wrestling his sister back into her seat. Peter and Sarah only laughed.

The car was about halfway home, stuck at a set of traffic lights, when James spoke again, deciding to air a topic he had been debating with himself all day.

“Uhh…” He cleared his throat quietly, drawing his parents’ attention in an instant. “I umm… I was… K-kinda hoping… m-maybe I could try sleeping in my own bed again tonight?”

Almost immediately, the light atmosphere within the car dropped, both adults turning to look at him with very different, but equally serious expressions.

“Are you sure?” Peter asked, his voice set in a tense sort of calm. “We can go as slow with this as you need to, you know?” Sarah nodded, her expression set in stone, before returning her eyes to the road.

James hesitated, uncertain, but eventually nodded.

“I… I had a really good day today. F-felt more normal than I have in a long time and… and I think maybe it’s enough… You know?”

“Sure I do,” Peter murmured, his tone low. “Of course you can, James.”

“You know where our room is,” Sarah added quietly, still not turning her eyes from the road. “Come in anytime if you can’t sleep. I don’t care if you wake us up.”

James nodded, relieved.

“Yeah. I will. Thanks Mom. Thanks, Dad.”

Casper:

Casper grunted slightly as he thought back over the events of his day, slowly trudging his way home along the slightly less crowded city streets.

James was a confusing one; that was certain. His emotions seemed just as stable and happy as any other kid for the most part, but Casper couldn’t help but notice the strange flicker of fear the boy felt every time a teacher had passed his desk. Further than that, though, he’d felt James’ parents once again as they picked him up from school, and had received possibly the strangest influx of mixed emotions he had ever felt. Anxiety, relief, a moment of what felt like pride from the father and a stab of guilt from the mother. Casper shook his head. Every new piece of context he got, it just made the puzzle seem harder to figure out, somehow.

“Why didn’t these damn powers come with a manual?” He grumbled, his feet starting to stomp slightly as he trudged his way home in the afternoon sun.

James:

“Shh!” The stranger said urgently, his voice halfway between a whisper and a command. “It’s okay! I’m not gonna hurt you!”

“But you ARE hurting me!” The boy yelled, trying to pull away with all his might. “Let go!” The hands grasping his wrists only tightened their grip as he struggled.

“It’s okay!” The man replied, his voice taking on a tone of false sounding reassurance. “You’ll see. It’ll be fine! Just hold still.”

The boy groaned and fought as a hand grasped him by the back of the head, forcing his face down onto the grimy surface of the bathroom wash station. His nostrils filled with the stinging aromas of industrial hand soaps and grease. Despite every effort, his vision started to blur as water began slowly building around his eyes.

“No, let me go!” He yelled hoarsely, trying to lift his head, only for it to be pushed back down even harder than before. “Please!”

The assailant did not respond, but for a few small grunts of effort as he pulled at something outside of the boy’s field of view.

The next thing James felt was pain. He let out a single, ragged scream.

“Shhh now…” Said the stranger quietly, his voice catching occasionally with exertion. “It’ll… stop hurting… in a minute.”


James awoke in tears, his body rolled tight as he could into a little ball. The boy was so out of it that, for the first few moments, he completely failed to notice how his body hung, suspended, almost three feet above his bed. Instead, he focused inward, trying to bring himself to some semblance of calm.

“Just a dream,” he whispered to himself in the silence, tears still streaming down his face. “Just a dream. Just a dream.”

Only when sufficiently calm did James open his eyes, noting with a small yelp how far away the covers of his bed seemed. He uncurled himself, stretching out and grasping for the tangled sheets below, just an inch or two out of his reach. Panic rising, he began moving, almost swimming, trying to pull himself through the air towards his bed.

“Come on,” he muttered to himself, trying and failing to quell his rising terror. “Just… a little closer. Gotta get… back… down.”

All at once, gravity seemed to reassert itself. James fell back to the bed with a soft thud, landing awkwardly on one shoulder. He bounced, his body going base over apex, before coming to rest on his back. He lay there for a long while, staring up at his ceiling with glassy eyes as he tried and failed to absorb the shock.

“What’s happening to me?” He asked quietly of the empty room.

Peter:

Peter had never been a deep sleeper, even before his parents’ training had instilled vigilance in him. As such, the faint creak of the bedroom door slowly swinging open, its hinges allowed to rust on purpose so as to always alert him to an entry, was enough to rouse him immediately. Peter moved slowly, feigning sleep, reaching an arm under his pillow and finding the grip of his gun. He heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching as the intruder drew nearer and felt his body drawing tense in response, like a coiled spring. Taking a firmer grip on his pistol with his right hand, Peter moved his left to gently prod Sarah awake beside him. She roused with just the tiniest shudder, coming to alertness near instantaneously.

There was a minute shift of weight as the newcomer reached the bed, their breathing heavy and, perplexingly, dropped down onto the mattress. Peter allowed his eyes to open a crack and glanced down at the newcomer in the darkness. Hard to make out. He began to slowly pull his gun free of the pillow, ready to confront whoever this new assailant was.

The stranger made a small sniffling noise, their small form coming into sharper focus as they began to crawl up along the bed sheets. Recognizing the intruder, Peter immediately let his grip on the gun relax, pushing it back deep into its hiding place.

“Hey James,” he murmured, his voice quiet. “You okay, little buddy?”

The boy didn’t respond, shifting up to his father’s side and laying himself down, silent but for the occasional quivering breath. Peter let out a small sigh, reaching out and pulling his son in close, letting James’ head rest against his chest. He felt the child’s hands reach up around him in return, the boy pulling himself in tighter.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked, moving his hand to slowly stroke the boy’s pyjama clad back. Again, no response. He felt James’ arms tighten around him, the boy practically clinging on to him. “Okay,” he answered quietly. “It’s okay. Wanna talk about it?”

James shook his head, the movement producing a slight rustling noise as his hair shifted against the bed. Peter gave a small nod, shifting slightly to hold his son more comfortably, one arm dropping back to the mattress as the other draped over James’ shoulders.

“I see,” he murmured, allowing his eyes to close once more. “That’s okay. Go to sleep, buddy. It’s gonna be fine, alright?” Against his chest, he felt James give a small nod, his breathing beginning to settle just a little. “That’s right,” he said gently as the boy began to slowly drift off to sleep. “There we go.” Under the covers, Peter felt his wife’s hand find his own, wrapping around his fingers and giving them a squeeze. He squeezed back, slowly trying to clear his head enough to fall back once more to sleep.

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Prologue: David.

Doctor’s notes, Subject #24170. Alias: David. Session 1.

Notes and recommendations of attendant therapist, Natalie Sharpe:

                David (Pseudonym provided by parental request, to be removed if deviation abilities are confirmed) has displayed mild to moderate behavioural change since occurrence of primary event, sexual assault by an unnamed individual. Behavioural changes are concerning, but within expectations. Parents report that David has been angry, withdrawn and largely non-communicative since the event, frequently displaying signs of recent crying, but never doing so in their presence. Subject discharged from hospital three days previously, no signs reported of physiological or metaphysical manifestations: weight, body temperature and brain activity all normal for a child of his age. Mild decrease in muscular strength flagged as concerning, possible sign of type two manifestation, but no corresponding change in bodily density. Listing shock and physical trauma as probable cause, overall risk graded as low.

                Behavioural changes are cause for possible concern, if antisocial patterns develop, could lead to greater risk of harm in the event of deviance.

Personal note from attendant therapist: ‘While I am aware that the social and emotional wellbeing of the child is not the concern of this examination, I still feel a moral obligation to point out the need for sensitive treatment of this issue for the sake of his development into the future.’

                Be advised, David has been noticeably skittish with all adults besides his parents since the event, more so with males than females.

Transcript of audio-visual session recording taken down by supervisor Sullivan is as follows:

David enters, standing by the doorway for several seconds. Notably, his marks of purity and pain, obtained during the sexual assault in question, seem to have been covered, presumably with makeup. He lifts a hand to the side of his face, apparently reassuring himself that the marks are still covered.

Doctor Sharpe: “Hello, my name is Doctor Sharpe, Natalie, if you prefer. What’s your name?”

David: “Don’t you already know my name?”

Doctor Sharpe: “Yes, but I feel it helps if you have a chance to introduce yourself to me, rather than me just knowing these things.”

Both David and Doctor Sharpe are silent for a short period of time.

David: “…David.”

Doctor Sharpe: “It’s a pleasure to meet you, David. Have a seat if you like.”

A pause.

David: “Do I have to?”

Doctor Sharpe: “No, you don’t have to. If it makes you feel more comfortable to remain close to the door, that’s perfectly understandable.”

A pause.

David: “Is this the part where you ask me where on the doll the bad man touched me?”

A pause.

Doctor Sharpe: “I take it your parents let you watch Law and Order then?”

David laughs.

David: “Sometimes.”

Doctor Sharpe laughs as well.

Doctor Sharpe: “Just let me note that down here, it’s very important.”

David appears to grow mildly agitated.

David: “Is it?”

Doctor Sharpe: “No, it’s not. I was joking David, you can relax.”

A pause.

David: “I already told the other doctors, I don’t know who he was.”

Doctor Sharpe: “That’s not why we’re here, David.”

A pause.

Doctor Sharpe: “We’re here to make sure everything’s okay with you, to make sure that what happened didn’t hurt you permanently.”

Doctor Sharpe stands, retrieves a soda from the fridge and offers one to David, who accepts.

David: “The doctor at the hospital said I was recovering fine.”

Doctor Sharpe: “Not that kind of hurt, David.”

A pause. Doctor Sharpe opens a second can of soda and walks with it towards David. He flinches slightly as she approaches. Doctor Sharpe hesitates, before placing the can on the floor and returning to her seat. David mumbles something too quietly for the recorder to pick up, before retrieving the soda, returning to his position by the door and drinking. David looks out of the office window for several minutes. Doctor Sharpe watches David in silence.

David: “I… I remember it sometimes.”

Doctor Sharpe: “I imagine you do, yes.”

David: “H-he said it would stop hurting after a while, but it didn’t.”

A pause. David begins to cry, wipes his eye on a sleeve, takes three deep breaths and continues.

David: “I keep remembering it when I try to sleep. It keeps me awake, makes it harder.”

Doctor Sharpe consults her notes briefly.

Doctor Sharpe: “Your parents didn’t mention any sleep problems.”

David shakes his head.

David: “I didn’t tell them.”

Doctor Sharpe: “Why not?”

David: “I didn’t want them to worry.”

Doctor Sharpe: “Trust me David, they’re already worried.”

David: “I know.”

A pause.

David: “Is there anything you can do to help me sleep? I’m really tired.”

Doctor Sharpe: “There are a few things we can try, yes.”

David: “Can you give me some pills or something? Something to make the memories go away for a while?”

Doctor Sharpe: “Pills are certainly an option, but we don’t really want to depend on them, especially not at your age.”

David crosses his arms and frowns.

David: Imitating Doctor Sharpe, “Not at your age.”

Doctor Sharpe raises her eyebrows.

Doctor Sharpe: “You’re twelve, David. Too many pills could cause problems.”

David: “So could not being able to sleep.”

Doctor Sharpe: “There are other things we can try for that besides sleeping pills. For instance, you might find it easier if you tried sleeping somewhere where you felt safe. Maybe your parents’ room?”

David: “But that’d make them worry even more!”

A pause.

Doctor Sharpe: “It may sound strange, David, but having you close by might be enough to help them worry less.”

David: “That’s stupid.”

Doctor Sharpe shrugs.

Doctor Sharpe: “Yeah, adults are stupid sometimes.”

A pause.

Doctor Sharpe: “Have you spoken with anyone about your markings?”

David moves his hand to the side of his face, brushing a finger against the point where the mark of purity sits.

David: “It still feels weird having them there.”

Doctor Sharpe: “That’s understandable.”

David: “Does it feel weird for adults when they get them?”

A pause.

Doctor Sharpe: “It can take some getting used to, yes. I remember when I got my mark, a lot of my friends used to tease me about it, they kept asking me who the lucky boy was. I imagine it’s a little harder for you though. Most people get them by choice, after all.”

David: “I guess that makes sense.”

Doctor Sharpe: “Have you spoken to anyone about your options in that regard?”

A pause.

David: “One of the doctors at the hospital said they could bleach the skin, cover them back up or something. I’m not sure how I feel about doing that, though.”

Doctor Sharpe: “That’s understandable. Would you like for us to talk it through together? It may help you decide how you feel about it.”

A pause.

David: “Sure.”

Doctor Sharpe: “Good, I’m glad. Well, first of all, there is the social aspect. How do you feel about interacting with your friends and family members with the markings?”

David: “It… it feels weird, sort of like everyone’s staring at me for having them.”

Doctor Sharpe: “That is a concern, yes. People in your position often find that the presence of the marks attracts a degree of unwelcome attention. As you are probably aware, the purity marks usually appear when an individual loses their virginity. In kids your age, this can often lead to a degree of unwanted questioning, how do you feel about that possibility?”

A pause.

David: “Not great. I… I’ve been sort of hiding it from people whenever I leave the house.”

Doctor Sharpe: “Yes, I noticed you had them covered up. Did your mother do that for you?”

David: “Y-yeah.”

A pause. David hesitates for some time, staring at the floor, before raising the cuff of his sleeve to his cheek, seemingly in an attempt to wipe the makeup off. Doctor Sharpe speaks before he has a chance to start removing it.

Doctor Sharpe: “You don’t have to take it off if it makes you uncomfortable David. I promise, I am not going to judge you.”

David seems relieved, quickly returning his hand to his side.

David: “Thanks. It… I know it’s not good to lie, but…”

Doctor Sharpe: “No. In this case, I think it’s perfectly reasonable. It’s a very private thing you’re trying to deal with and you don’t want your peers to know. You aren’t doing anything wrong.”

A pause.

David: “Thanks, Natalie.”

Doctor Sharpe nods in acknowledgement. David shakes his head.

David: “Eww, no, sorry. Calling you Natalie feels weird.”

Doctor Sharpe laughs slightly.

Doctor Sharpe: “I guess I can understand that. Moving on, do you have any problems or concerns about the idea of covering the marks that you’d like to talk about?”

David: “Yeah… I… I’m kinda worried about… what if it doesn’t look real?”

Doctor Sharpe: “I can assure you David, the process is very thorough. I’m sure the doctor showed you some pictures. Besides, no one is going to question it much if your face doesn’t look exactly the same. To be honest, most people don’t pay that much attention.”

A pause.

David: “Could they do it in time for me to go back to school?”

Doctor Sharpe: “Probably not, if you decided to go that route, you’d probably have to keep wearing makeup, like you are now. As I understand it, the surgery has a bit of a waiting list.”

David: “So then how do I stop my friends from finding out? I mean, I know I can cover them and stuff, but what if it rains or something?”

Doctor Sharpe nods.

Doctor Sharpe: “That is a valid concern, David, but not as much of an issue as you might be thinking. We usually supply skin patches to people in situations like yours, to help hide the markings for the time being. I was informed that these ones should be a decent match to your skin color.”

Doctor Sharpe opens her desk drawer and rifles through it for a few moments, eventually finding the patches in question. She stands and moves to place them on a table in the middle of the room. Doctor Sharpe returns to her desk to allow David to take the patches without coming into contact with her. David takes the patches and examines them for several seconds.

David: “They look all weird. They feel wrong, too.”

Doctor Sharpe: “I know. These aren’t as realistic as the surgery will be, but as long as you keep them under makeup, they should hold up fine until the replacement surgery. That way, if it rains and your makeup gets washed away, you’ll have time to excuse yourself and go get help.”

David: “Are… are there any downsides? Is there something bad the surgery might do?”

A pause.

Doctor Sharpe: “It… it depends on what you call a downside. For one thing, if we clear the skin, it stays clear. The marks won’t come back the next time you have sex.”

David’s expression changes to one of disgust.

David: “That’s fine. I don’t ever want to do it again anyway.”

A pause.

Doctor Sharpe: “You may feel differently about that when you get older.”

David: “I don’t care. Right now I never want to do it again. It hurt.”

A pause.

Doctor Sharpe nods.

Doctor Sharpe: “Well, you can make that decision when you come to it. Even if you decided you didn’t like it, the markings could be tattooed back on eventually, if you wanted.”

A pause.

David: “Sure.”

Doctor Sharpe: “Well, I hope talking about it helped you see everything a little more clearly. Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

David shakes his head before looking over his shoulder at the door.

David: “No, I think I want to go back to my mom now. Sorry.”

Doctor Sharpe: “I understand. To be honest, I think you did very well for a first session. I’m glad. Until next time, David.”

David: “Yeah, bye.”

David opens the door and exits the room.

Doctor Sharpe waits for the door to close, then sighs. She produces a hand recorder from her desk drawer and begins recording.

Doctor Sharpe: “Personal notes, Patient 24170, session 1. Patient exhibits no observable signs of deviant cognitive changes. His emotional intelligence seems unusually well developed for a twelve year old, although not to any degree that might indicate some empathic ability. I suspect he is simply ahead of his age group in that regard. His reaction to the concept of engaging in sexual activity at some point in the future is, while understandable, still concerning. Action may need to be taken to prevent him from forming unhealthy or inaccurate attitudes towards sexual activity on the basis of his negative experiences.”

End of recording.

Notes and recommendations of supervisor Sullivan regarding case #24170:

                Doctor Sharpe reports no visible or cognitive evidence of deviance manifestation. An all-clear will be issued pending the results of a two week observation period. Doctor Sharpe requests permission to pursue additional sessions with David on a pro-bono basis for therapeutic purposes. Permission will be granted provided the all-clear is received. On a related note, Doctor Sharpe may be too emotionally susceptible to engage in higher level work. Requesting approval to restrict her to positions with level one clearance only.

Report concludes.

James walked out of the office, deep in thought. Talking with Doctor Sharpe had given him a lot to think about. His mother, Sarah, got up quickly, moving towards him with that same look of poorly hidden concern she had been wearing for days now. She looked exhausted, deep lines etched into her face, drawing the pale skin taut.

“How was it?” Sarah asked, reaching out a hand for James to grasp as she made her way towards the receptionist, a large woman seated in the only comfortable looking chair the waiting room had available.

James didn’t answer immediately. He was too busy gathering his thoughts in an attempt to make some sense of them to be fully aware of his surroundings.

“It was… fine, I guess,” he answered eventually. “It was good having someone I can talk to about… stuff.”

James could tell by the way her grip tightened around his hand that something he had said was painful to his mother. Even so, she kept her face carefully controlled. The boy waited patiently as Sarah spoke briefly with the receptionist, before leading him gently from the doctor’s rooms.

“You could always speak to your father and I, you know?” Sarah said quietly as they walked towards the car. “We’re your parents after all, we care about you.”

James sighed. Guilt was a hard thing to deal with, even when applied unintentionally.

“I know, Mom. It’s just… There’s some stuff I don’t want to talk to you about because you’re my parents. I… I’m scared you’ll… look at me different.”

“We won’t,” Sarah replied in that same gentle voice. “I promise.”

‘You’ve been doing it all week.’ James bit back the words, refusing to say them because he knew they would only hurt his mother. Unfortunately, it seemed his silence was equally hurtful to her. She gripped his hand tighter, as if to remind herself that he was still there. James gritted his teeth, angry with himself. He had no idea what to say.

“Hey,” Sarah spoke eventually into the silence, her voice quavering slightly in betrayal of the cheer she forced into the words. “Wanna go get some ice cream on the way home?”

James shook his head, forcing a smile.

“No thanks, Mom. Can we just go home? I promised Bex I’d help her build a spaceship today.”

James wasn’t sure what he would have done without his sister there. It was amazing just how grating people talking soothingly became after a solid week. It had eventually reached the point where he thought it would drive him mad. The only escape the world had offered was Rebecca. At five years old, she lacked the subtlety to pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t. When everyone else around was spouting hollow sounding platitudes and half-heartedly promising that nothing was different, Rebecca wanted to build spaceships with her older brother. James had no words to express how thankful he was of that.

Sarah smiled, slightly more genuine this time. Seeing James spending time with his sister had seemed to reassure her recently.

“Sure thing kiddo.”

The two drove home in silence, freed from the social obligation to converse by the blessed presence of the radio. Sarah let James pick the channel. Arriving home, James tracked down his sister, marched her into the small playroom the two of them grudgingly shared, and proceeded to dump the entire contents of their Lego collection out onto the floor. Both James and Rebecca understood the universal truth that Lego was simply better when it was in a jumbled heap. The two then constructed the grandest spaceship of which they were capable, complete with engines, living quarters and, because Rebecca was five, Dumbledore’s office.

Later, at dinner, James told his parents about his nightmares, including what Doctor Sharpe had said about sleeping somewhere he felt safe. Both Sarah and Peter, James’ father, had agreed to let him sleep in their room without hesitation.

That night, James got a decent night’s sleep for the first time in a week. When James woke in the dark, whimpering and mewling quietly, his parents gently shushed him back to sleep, reassuring the crying boy that everything would be alright. For the first time that week, James believed them.

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