Chapter 8

Episode 1 - On the Brink

Brady worked hard to keep his senses functioning at a semi-normal level as he followed Dash down a corridor, up an elevator, and into the main lobby of the medical center. The sounds and smells that had pressed in on him so hard in the isolated lab took on even more strength here, particularly the child’s cries, which were currently alternating between pitiful moans and outright shrieks.

Father God, let them find some way to help him, please.

The brightness of the sun caught Brady off guard when he stepped out the door onto the small circular drive, and he had to shield his eyes for a moment before he could see again. Had he seriously forgotten to grab his sunglasses before stepping outside? Where were they, anyway? Probably still in his old room—but was he really calling it that now? Had he accepted the place that this group was offering him, or had he just let himself be carried along without thought? What was he supposed to do here, and more importantly, how was he supposed to find out?

When the worst of the glare faded, he hurried over to join Dash, who sat watching impatiently from beside a nondescript blue minivan. Brady’s adjusting vision immediately cut through it to reveal half a dozen kids of varying ages, sizes, and skin tones—and all apparently stuck on maximum volume, which he was pretty sure wasn’t an effect of his enhanced hearing. He blinked the door back into focus and offered an apologetic smile to the dark-skinned woman in the driver’s seat.

“Sorry. Brady Owen. Nice to meet you.”

“Got it. I’ll try to remember.” The woman threw a half-curious, half-distracted glance at him before jerking her eyes up to the rearview mirror. “Y’all quiet down! Rowan, help Grace find her shoe! Matt, please give Lonnie the elephant. Alonzo, no hitting!” She turned back to the window with a sigh. “I’m sorry. Shavonne Jackson. Been a crazy day.”

“Same here.” She had no idea. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full. Anything I can help with?”

“No, we’re good. Watch the door.”

As she spoke, the side door popped open, and a little girl of five or six in navy plaid with hair just a shade lighter and a touch curlier than Rachelle’s hopped out—purple lunch box nearly falling out of an unzipped yellow backpack, one scuffed black tennis shoe on her foot and the other in her hand, and some kind of berry lip gloss smeared from much too high on her lips to halfway across her cheek.

Dash barked a laugh, and Shavonne gave a little sigh as the girl came to an abrupt stop in front of Brady.

“She’s here in one piece. Give me extra stretch arms and we’ll talk about more. Tonya, close the door and buckle up. Two more stops before tee ball, and we’re late already.”

Brady briefly considered offering to help again, but with Grace still standing in front of him, staring up at his five ten height like it was the Eiffel Tower, the move would have been awkward at best. Tonya—or someone—must have gotten it done without him because the door slammed shut and the minivan lurched away, leaving the three of them alone on the pavement.

“Hi.” Brady bent down to put himself closer to the little girl’s level, and she backed up a step and tried to lift her thumb to her mouth, only to be thwarted by the shoe she still held. She dropped it on the ground and wriggled her foot into it, jamming her thumb into her cheek so hard that Brady winced.

“Monster, if your looks today don’t send him packing, I don’t know what will.” Dash rolled his chair up next to Brady, and Grace cut her eyes in his direction but didn’t move the thumb from her mouth.

“Where’s Ellie?”

“In the den. Tweaked her knee is all. She’s fine.”

“Ohhh.” Grace’s stiff little body wilted in relief. She took a shuffling step forward and all but collapsed against Dash’s leg.

“Hey.” He raised a hand to awkwardly pat her shoulder. “What’s the problem? I’ve picked you up plenty of times. There’s no need to be scared.”

“Who’s that?” Grace cut her eyes back to Brady, but before he could figure out how to explain, Dash was speaking.

“Who do you think?”

Grace studied him for a few seconds, then suddenly her face lit up.

“Ohhh! Do you got—” She stopped and glanced around as if to protect a carefully guarded secret, then whispered, “Superpowers?”

Well, that was direct enough, and at least she hadn’t asked what he planned to do about it. Brady nodded, and Grace clapped her hands and bounced on her toes, her thumb forgotten in her excitement.

“Can you tell me a story?”

“Um…” Brady glanced helplessly at Dash, who offered a slight change of expression probably meant for an eye roll.

“She’s a sucker for superhero stories. Go figure. He hasn’t actually done anything with it yet, munchkin. Besides”—he lowered his voice to a rasping whisper—“we can’t talk about it here, remember?”

Grace clapped both hands over her mouth, spun around, and took two running steps toward the door before tripping on her untied shoelace and pitching forward onto her hands and knees.

“Grace…” Dash nearly growled the word, but before he could say anything else, Brady was next to her, ignoring the mess spilling from her backpack as he scooped her up in his arms.

“Hey, shh. It’s all right.” With an instinct born of some long ago memory, he laid her head against his shoulder and gently patted her back, and the little girl melted into his neck, her sobs quieting as her arms tightened around him. “That’s it, Gracie-girl. Shhh. You’re okay.” He gave her a few seconds before trying to move, but his first attempt to shift her for a better look at the damage brought renewed moans and a grip so tight it could almost have torn his shirt. “Grace, shhh. You’re all right. I just want to see your knees, okay?”

“Don’t put me down,” Grace whimpered, and Brady threw a helpless glance at Dash, who lifted his hands with the same almost-smirk he’d worn before.

“Don’t look at me. You’re the kid whisperer, apparently.”

“Thanks a lot.” Brady sighed and turned back to the clinging bundle in his arms. “What if I let you sit on my knee while I pick up your papers and look at your scrapes? Then I’ll carry you till we get back to the—what do you call it?”

“The den?” The words came in a whisper, but her desperate hold relaxed a little, and Brady smiled.

“Right. I’ll carry you back to the den. I promise.” He waited a second before trying again to move her, and this time she let her arms be pried away and only scooted closer to his chest when he crouched down to perch her on his knee. Brady let out a breath of relief as he examined her scrapes and found only a few faint lines of blood. “That’s not bad. A couple bandaids’ll fix you right up. So tell me about the den. Who named it that? Do you know?”

“Ellie.” Grace leaned her head against his chest as he started gathering up the papers, crayons, and other school supplies scattered across the ground.

Dash snorted.

“Who’d you think? ‘Lair’ and ‘base’ weren’t homelike enough, apparently.”

“Hard to disagree with that.”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t.” Dash huffed, and Brady glanced over at him but decided whatever he meant wasn’t worth fighting over.

“So how long have you all been here?” He nudged Grace enough to slip her backpack from her shoulders and began refilling it, trying not to make it more of a mess than it already was.

“Rachelle and Grace, coming up on a year and a half. Me, just over a year. Harper, almost seven months.”

“Doesn’t that give Rachelle some kind of founder’s rights, then, at least as far as what you call the place?”

“Oh, dry up,” Dash muttered, and Brady hid a grin as he zipped up the backpack and slid it over his own shoulder.

“All right, Gracie-girl, let’s go.” He slipped his arm around her and slid her onto his hip, and Grace wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder as they followed Dash back toward the medical center.